Two Hours Till Midnight
by SaturnXK
Summary: "We protect our own." Jack is a gang member, Elsa stitches up wounds, and Anna is just in it for the money. (And for the first time in centuries, Loneliness is intrigued.) – Jack/Elsa. streetgang!au.
1. I AM LONELINESS

cover image from travel dot nationalgeographic dot com.

**warning: implied rape, implied child abuse.**

other than this chapter, there **will not be implied rape nor child abuse again** in this story.

**notes:** clara frost will be the name of jack's younger sister.

**chapter one (prologue, of sorts):** I AM LONELINESS

* * *

><p>Hello there. My name is Loneliness. I am your Narrator.<p>

That's how it usually goes, right?

Let me tell you a little bit about myself. Listen, please? I hope you will, because nowadays people don't really listen anymore. It breaks my heart, to be honest.

I am Loneliness. I visit people a lot. All the people in the world, actually. I like stories, and it's interesting, because humans, being humans, are walking words. I could sit here and gush about every story I've ever heard, ever seen, ever touched, but then we'll be here until the end of Time, and Time, I know, doesn't stop for anyone.

So today, I'll pick one out of billions. There's no special reason, why I chose this one out of everyone else's. Except for the fact that all of them are so, so _fascinating _that they are all special, in their own way. I suppose that sounds a little clichéd, don't you think? I would apologise, but apologising isn't really something that comes naturally to me.

I am Loneliness. Loneliness doesn't apologise.

Back to the matter at hand: I will tell you about a girl named Elsa Queen.

Think about it. Listen.

Elsa Queen. Elsa Queen. El-sah Kw-ee-n.

It's very ordinary. Elsa Queen.

But after you say her name (come, say it. El-sah. Kw-ee-n), it becomes strange on your tongue, as if it's been twisted and plunged into a distorted liquid, and while it's still the same (Elsa Queen), at the same time, it's not (El-sah Kw-ee-n).

Elsa Queen's life has two parts. I like to call it pre-Jack, and after-Jack. It makes it a little bit more attention grabbing than 'from birth till thirteen' and 'from thirteen till the end of her life', don't you think? It makes you wonder who Jack is. Her brother? Her lover? Her enemy? Her friend? Her classmate? No one at all?

Pre-Jack, Elsa had a very normal childhood. Well, as normal as one's can get. She has a younger sister named Anna, four years her junior. She went to a good school, got good grades, and even managed to score a boyfriend here and there. Though being only ten (her first one) and twelve (her second), they didn't do much outside of holding hands and taking walks in the park. I know this, because I am always there. Elsa had few friends, and spent most of her day in the silence of the library.

Her parents loved her very much. It was a little bit sickening to see. But then again, Love is my enemy. Everything she does sickens me.

I am Loneliness, and Loneliness is banished by Love.

But at thirteen, Elsa comes home one day with Anna in tow, to find her housekeeper Gerda crying into the kitchen table.

Despair is my closest friend; he often comes with me, arms linked. That day, Despair blanketed the Queen household, now missing two members. Death, an acquaintance of mine, had taken her mother and father.

I will skip the part where Elsa and Anna cry. I will skip the part where they struggle to live without their guiding figures. I will skip six months, because that time, while I thrived and flourished within dark corners and under beds, is something I believe Elsa never wishes for anyone to know. Never say that I am not a courteous fellow.

At eight months, things settle down.

But it's become habit for Elsa to wander the streets at night after dropping Anna off at an empty home. They live in an apartment near the city, so she will make her slow way past all sorts of things that never close until the light of day. There are many people who enjoy the nightlife.

Elsa finds it very hard to come home before ten o'clock in the evening. There is just something about that time, about the colour of the sky at that moment, about the ten strikes that chime from the city's tower clock, that renders her unable to move her feet towards her waiting sister, and she's stuck forever darting in and out of side streets and alleys and loitering before giant lit-up stores whose colourful lights reflect in her eyes.

But at thirteen, nearing fourteen, she is still young and vulnerable. Adolescence claws in her body, and it's dangerous for her to be out alone.

So it's one night in thousands, blurring by like a speeding train, here and then gone again. And yet this night differs from the rest, in that Gerda opens the door at midnight, worry darkening her face like a cloud and a phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline, and she sees Elsa standing there, face white like snow.

There is blood on her skirt and it's drying on her legs, and Elsa looks like she wants to cry. Except she doesn't, not until Gerda has ushered her inside. Not until she throws away the clothes and gives her a bath and tucks her into bed. Not until Gerda is tossing fitfully in their shared room, that Elsa weeps quietly into her pillow and curls up into a ball and holds her hands close to her chest, as if she is trying to keep the pieces of her shattered heart together.

The next morning, Gerda goes to the police and takes Elsa to the hospital. Anna is only nine (almost ten) and she doesn't understand. Elsa doesn't tell her, only murmurs that she's a little bit hurt today. Anna gasps and pressed a Hello Kitty Band-Aid into her sister's palm, and the act is so childlike and innocent that Elsa wants, crazily, to laugh, but she manages something mixed between a chuckle and a sob instead, and ends up bawling her eyes out.

Anna just hugs her and pats her head and tells her it's going to be alright. Elsa has prayed to 'be alright' for months already.

(She's beginning to lose faith.)

* * *

><p>Let me tell you, in the years after her parent's death and before meeting Jack, I was a constant guest in this house. Consequently, I know it very well.<p>

Here, in this doorway, Gerda first invited me in. I flitted past the policeman at the door, who broke the news that Mr and Mrs Queen were dead, and when Gerda moaned and clapped a hand over her mouth, I was there, hovering at her side. Despair is crueler though, and he pushes her down, sinks her knees into the rough red carpet, and he sighs with content as Gerda wails.

After that, I occupy everything. My presence soaks into the walls and the furniture; I lay on the floor and hang from the ceiling like a grotesque bat. In the living room, I age the wooden table and creak the chairs. In the hallway, I am the reason why it seems to take forever to walk from one end to the other. But where I live, truly, is _inside_.

I inhabit minds; I play games with them, much like humans play scissors-paper-rock, or tic-tac-toe. I am a hallucination, an illusion, a product of the brain, but at the same time, I am the realest thing you will ever meet.

(Sometimes, I am Loneliness. Other times, I am Fear.)

But I rather like being Loneliness. I am a patient creature, I like to bide my time. Loneliness is slow. Fear, while it can creep up and pause and wait a while, is ultimately something that comes in a flash and leaves. The result, while a lot of people mistake it for my other half, is really isolation and insecurity.

Elsa, in a way, welcomed me. I grew very close to her, found out her deepest, darkest secrets, things she would whisper soundlessly into the velvet of the night, things that no one else can hear except for me. Elsa, in the rough transition between pre-Jack and after-Jack and the after-effects of That Night, loses her words. There are times when she goes weeks without saying anything.

She's like winter, a little bit. That's what I often compare her to. Frozen and cold, cracked and silent. But then, when an avalanche comes or the ice breaks, it explodes with a fury that surprises even me.

But then, we'll have to wait. Her detonation hasn't started yet.

* * *

><p>Now, we'll take a break from Elsa. Now, I'll tell you a little bit about Jack. His story is one that can be found in any city around the world: he grew up without a father and with a hooker for a mother. His mother, Vanessa Frost, had dark mahogany hair and lips perpetually stained red. She disappeared almost every night, and when she <em>was <em>home, she slapped around her two children like a small girl might throw around her rag doll.

But the truth of the matter is that Vanessa _really did_ love Jack and Clara Frost. She really, truly did. Isn't it ironic? Because as the two of them lay still on the dirty floor, smashed dinner plates scattered like sand across the room, both nursing blossoming bruises and cut lips, Despair lurks over them, while I stand there quietly in the corner, as both Loneliness and Fear, and hand in hand with me is Love, crying silent tears all down her face. At this time, Love will look a little too much like Vanessa, who will always be slumped up against the wall opposite them.

This is Jack's story, from birth till the day he likes to call The Day My Mother Was Killed. It happens at approximately eleven years old. Clara is perhaps seven. Both of them don't miss her much. Vanessa may have loved them, but they never loved her in return, quite understandably so.

Social workers come to visit them all the time. In a city like this though, there is no support system. Maybe, if they had been born somewhere else, they would have been put in an orphanage and given the possibility of an adoption. But the reality is that the government is corrupt and its officials are just starving dogs sniffing around for meat. The reality is that in a city like this, no one cares, and those who do are looking for something to steal off of you.

Jack and Clara make do on their own. I can't tell you exactly what they did; that would ruin the story. You'll find out later on. It might surprise you, it might not. It might disgust you, it might not. Either way, this is but a small peek into Jack's past. It might make his later actions a little more logical, it might not. But you cannot judge him until you know his full story.

(And you probably never will.)

* * *

><p>[present day]<p>

It's ten o'clock again. Ten o'clock at night, and everything is a deep, manic grey, the sort of grey that feels dark and oppressive and clinks like silvery chains. There's a slight storm coming from the west, and a harsh breeze whips through Elsa's hair as she sits at a twenty-four hour café and idly stirs a cup of lukewarm coffee.

Her phone vibrates.

Text message from: Anna

Elsa! Where are you?  
>You know I don't like you<br>staying out late :(

Blue eyes scan the text idly, and Elsa tucks her phone back into her pocket and dismisses it.

She nods to the exhausted waiter and shoulders her bag, merging easily with the crowd and picking her way daintily through the throng of people.

She's just about to step onto the road when something slams into her with all the force of a rhino, and Elsa gasps and then the pavement is rushing up to her face. With fast reflexes, she manages to catch herself in time before her nose is crushed, and then she flips around and gets up and snaps at the attacker, who's picking himself off the ground as well.

"Watch where you're going," she snarls. He's a boy, maybe her age, with dyed white hair and blue eyes. He's standing like he's been cornered, knees bent and eyes flickering this way and that.

"Fuck," he hisses, and he spins full circle, as if he is trying to look for something. "Fuck, shit, fuck fuck fuck."

Elsa scoffs and turns to leave, because she has better things to do than mess with someone who's obviously already in trouble. Gang members, most likely. She doesn't see a tattoo on him, but he's wearing a sleeved blue hoodie and long black jeans and boots, so it's probably hidden.

This is the first time Elsa Queen encounters Jack Frost. She forgets about him completely in the span of an hour, when she comes home to find Anna with tears pricking the corners of her eyes, sitting at the dinner table, and shackled and sniffling with Worry.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

our narrator is both loneliness and fear. i guess you could almost say that pitch black is the narrator lol omg.

i sort of needed a narrator because a) i've never written a story with a narrator before and i wanted to try it and b) i needed a random third party observer because then i can do things like switch around and stuff more easily. lol, i gave Death an honourable mention in this chapter, kudos to you markus zusak bc loneliness is like a sad ripoff of him.

also, i had sworn to myself that i would never write another multi-chapter here on again because of the disastrous results from my previous attempts. but i have a good feeling about this fic, so i'll hopefully stay with it until the end.

other than this chapter, there **will not be implied rape nor child abuse again** in this story.


	2. The Red Crowns

**notes:** stella morta/the city of dead stars is a city that i created, and it is nestled in a small corner of the world. idk where though lol. i've taken ideas off new york, tokyo and seoul.

the schooling system in this fic is based off australia though, which is where i live. i figure it'll be easier for me than trying to understand other education systems. so here, after highschool, you go straight to university, not college (i still don't know exactly what purpose college has), which is what elsa has done.

the king of hearts that i talk about in here is the king of hearts that you would find in playing cards.

**cameos: **rapunzel from _tangled_ (she'll probably be a permanent add to the cast); the stabbington brothers from _tangled_ (i have named them hugo and herbert); hook hand, pub thug of the snuggly duckling, also from _tangled_; li shang, army captain and love interest from _mulan_; scar (prince taka) antagonist from _the lion king_.

**chapter two:** the red crowns

* * *

><p>I often associate certain characteristics with certain cities. It makes it easier to remember them, gives them a defining point, much like pasting onto them a personality stereotype. But it doesn't last for long, because cities transform with the people, and people are constantly merging and emerging and warping and clearing. That is the nature of humans. I like this part of them, though, because it keeps me on my toes. Just when I think I have humans all figured out, one of them does something that throws me completely off. But more on that later.<p>

Stella Morta is one of my favourite cities. There is something different about it, I can't exactly put into words. Among all the cities of the world, I feel like it best reflects human nature. There are so many facets to this city; it's a puppet, made to echo humans, made to represent how humans act and feel and think. But it's also an abstract shape, an exaggeration on humanity; a puppet can move in ways no human can, it is distorted, and through its clicking mouth flows the words of an ever-changing civilisation.

This city came into being around four hundred years ago. I wasn't interested in it at its founding time; however, I visited it a lot because the settlers that came had left families and friends behind. As Loneliness, I was obligated to come. But now, it has changed. Now, it is interesting.

It is very hard to explain, for you, who have never lived in this city. The people are all of the middle-class or higher, with around one million struggling in the downtown areas. But I will tell you about the one 'class' that I find absolutely _captivating_. They are the youth of the city.

Gangs run Stella Morta, and Families run the gangs. Of the six million people, three million of them are in a gang of some form or other. Of the three million, around two million are made up of kids from as young as seven to around twenty-five. No one really knows why. The police speculate, crime analysis experts speculate, but there is nothing wrong with these children. Three-quarters of them come from well-to-do families; the other quarter is made up of your clichéd parentless hooligans. But the one thing they all have in common is their love of blood and knives and violence and terror.

There are hundreds of gangs around the city, but one of the biggest ones is called the Red Crowns.

Jack Frost is a member of the Red Crowns. He is twenty-one years old. He joined them when he was twelve.

I was there, the day he asked to join. He was Lonely.

* * *

><p>[five years ago]<p>

Jack remembers his initiation very well. But when asked, he mumbles that he just had to do something so inexplicably horrifying that he never wants to think of it again.

(It still haunts him sometimes, the screams. When the night is dying and it's the darkest hour before dawn, that's when he recalls it the most.)

He finishes his initiation quite successfully.

(The man who oversaw his initiation is a strong, imposing Chinese man named Li Shang. He tells Jack that the number four in Chinese is unlucky, because it sounds like the word for death, and that it is no accident that it took Jack four tries to pass his test.)

At his initiation, I came not as Loneliness, but as Fear. Jack was terrified, but what twelve-year-old wouldn't be? The test is something that even most grown men can't do. The willpower Jack possessed to finish it is strengthened by the love he holds for his sister.

For Clara. Jack joined the Red Crowns only for Clara.

And then the next day, Jack is taken to a tattooist in the outer areas of Stella Morta. Printed onto his skin, ink forever sealed into his flesh, an image of the King of Hearts surrounded by a thin circle is pricked just under his left collarbone. It takes days to finish, but the result is an elaborate symbol of his membership, and, as Jack would later come to call it, his slavery.

* * *

><p>[present day]<p>

It's noon.

Everyone is going out to lunch, bathing in the streaks of sunlight that is just the right temperature of warm.

There's an abandoned building right beside a cheerful coffee shop. In contrast with the shop's bright atmosphere and yellow sunflowers displaying in front, the building is made of elderly crimson bricks and its windows are sealed with planks of rotting wood.

That's how Stella Morta works. Complete opposites living side by side. Gang members sneaking through schools filled with kids, a sniper having lunch back to back with an office worker, delinquents smoking right outside of hospitals.

The abandoned building once was a bank, but it was shut down because, quite honestly, it's in one of the worst spots a bank could be: a neutral zone right at the dividing line of two hostile gang territories.

When you walk inside, there's a huge room. And it's empty, save for the long table situated right in the very middle. It's too dark to see anything else, shadows clinging to the sides and dust caking every available surface.

There's a silent assembly in this room. On one end of the table sits two brothers, both strikingly huge and each displaying a gun clearly on their hips. Three men stand behind them, one guards the entrance, and the other patrols the overhanging balcony on the second floor, which overlooks the whole scene. It is a picture of grim tension, hatred smothering their hard faces.

On the other end, however, a young boy slouches in a high-backed chair. His legs are propped up on the table, cheek resting in a palm, and he lolls his head arrogantly as he stares down the brothers on the other side. Only one man is behind him; another is swinging idly on the chandelier above, and the last crouches in the corner, a soft glow lighting up periodically as he takes drag after drag from his cigarette.

"You stole from us," the boy says. His voice is delicately smooth, icy, and even. His lips pull up in a cocky smirk, but his blue eyes spark with irritation. "You haven't paid yet, but you still took our stock. That's a big no-no. The Red King isn't happy."

Silence rings after his statement. No one moves. The boy is the only one relaxed enough to snort and give a huge yawn.

"Come on, what do you say, Misters Hugo and Herbert Stabbington?" the boy asks mockingly.

The two figures shift in unison, but they keep their faces blank. They've been trained well.

"We always give you the money after we've retrieved the goods," Hugo says quietly. His voice is a rumble of thunder. "That's how we work, and that's always been fine with you."

"Yes," Jack says, and then he smiles sweetly at them; in the dim room, his face floats white in the darkness, a demented marionette whose mouth has been whittled into a hysterical grin. "But we've decided that we want our payment on the day you take our stock. We've decided that since you didn't do that last time, you are now considered thieves."

Herbert stands up; he's always been the more short-tempered of the twins. "You never warned us. If you had, this misunderstanding would never have happened."

Jack rocks his legs back onto the ground. "But you didn't just _steal _from us," Jack whispers, and suddenly his voice is _fire_, flaming with rage, "you _hurt_ one of our own. You stabbed a knife through one of _our_ people."

"That was an accident," Hugo insisted. He slams his hand down on the table, and it shakes the floor; Jack feels the tremors through the soles of his boots. "We thought she was cops! She shouldn't have come out at us so sudden–"

"You hurt one of _our _people," Jack interrupted. He runs a hand through his white hair, noting absent-mindedly that he needed a cut. He sighs, posture drooping, and then he gets to his feet. "Seriously…"

There's a strange look in his glassy eyes, and the Stabbington brothers share a glance, before they rise up as well. There is no hesitation, and for all intents and purposes, they are confident. But Jack has been trained by the best; he can see the way their muscles tense ever so slightly, the way their hands are slanted towards their guns.

"You have our apologies, on behalf of the Godmother, and ours, her second-in-commands," Hugo says, seeing the fury blaze across the boy's face. Jack is angry; it's not wise to anger him any further.

"That's not enough," Jack responds carelessly, waving a hand. "Consider this a warning."

He jerks his head to his men, and they all head towards the murky glass doors. Only the one hanging off the chandelier remains, and a gleeful smile spreads across his face.

"Do I get to cut them?" he asks excitedly.

"Only a little bit," Jack says without turning around. "Control yourself, Hook Hand. I'll see you back at Headquarters."

Hook Hand whines but nods in resignation and looks over to the Stabbington brothers. The door closes behind Jack and his remaining men.

"So," Hook Hand says conversationally, and there is something off about him. He smells of death, reeks of insanity, and his eyes are wild and his lips are strained into what cannot be called a smile; it's a slash of madness across his face, lighting up his otherwise emotionless eyes with embers of frenzied enjoyment. He raises his left hand, the scarred stump curving into a gleaming bronze hook. "Which two fingers would you guys rather lose?"

* * *

><p>[queen apartment]<p>

"Anna," Elsa says quietly. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together. "Anna, come on. Don't be like this."

"But _why_?" Anna is a lump on her bed, muffled and quivering with anger. The blinds are halfway pulled up, and sunlight reflects off of a colourful crystal paperweight on the desk. Its light refracts and casts odd rainbows everywhere. Cardboard boxes still left untouched are stacked up against the furthest wall, despite the fact that they had been living in this apartment for close to two years already. "It's not fair!"

"I'm uncomfortable with you going off on a weekend trip with your friends with no adult supervision," Elsa says. She's always been like this, formal, straight to the point, unwilling to skirt around the subject.

"But _all _my friends are going," Anna cries, and she sits up and faces her elder sister. Anna is a month shy of turning eighteen, just grown out of her awkward teenage years, rebellious, face sprinkled with light freckles and strawberry blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. Her fists clench. "Elsa, _please_. I really want to go."

"I know," Elsa says, and she's trying to hide her regret. She's trying so hard. "I'm sorry, Anna, but I can't allow you to."

"_Why_?"

"I just–no. It's not happening."

Anna stares at her wordlessly for a second, and then she jumps up and pushes her sister out of the door.

"Fine," Anna snarls, and she slams the door in her face. Elsa gazes at the painted green wood for a long time, and then she stumbles into the living room and buries her face into a worn cushion and tries very, very hard not to cry.

* * *

><p>Gone to work.<br>Will be back at 11.  
>Food in the fridge.<br>Stay safe. Call if  
>emergency.<p>

* * *

><p>Elsa waves goodbye to the last customer of the day, and as soon as they're out of sight, slumps over the till and moans.<p>

"Bad day?" her coworker Rapunzel asks sympathetically. Rapunzel is twenty, a year younger than Elsa. She's got long blonde hair and small, delicate features. She is a happy sort of person, outgoing and always laughing between sentences. She has wings on her feet and the sun in her smile. Elsa finds herself wishing many times that she could be like that, wishing to see the positivity in life, the ability to stop and smell the roses.

They both work part-time at The Red Lily, which is how they met, a Chinese restaurant that is forever busy, serves good food, and, most importantly, pays very well.

"A bit," Elsa croaks out.

"Want to talk?"

Elsa walks slowly over to a cluttered table and begin stacking the dishes and wiping down the grease and oil. It takes her a while to speak, but Rapunzel is patient, and she clears the drinks away as Elsa sorts out her thoughts.

"Anna wants to go on a weekend trip with her friends. At a beach, renting a penthouse," Elsa says finally. "I said no."

"She's your little sister, right?" Rapunzel says, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. "Why not, though?"

Lifting up the tray, Elsa pauses and wonders if it's worth sharing a piece of her life to her coworker. She knows she's secretive, clamming up whenever someone asks about her life and refusing politely when invited out. But she likes to consider Rapunzel as a friend, has done so for the past three years.

"I don't like it when Anna goes off with boys by herself," Elsa confesses quietly, and the admittance slices at her throat, and she's almost unable to choke out her next words. "And also… this trip will cost. I don't have enough money to pay for her."

Rapunzel sets down a glass and touches Elsa's shoulder gently. "Hey," she says, giving her a small smile that's much too bright, and Elsa wants to look away because it's blinding her, "why don't you just explain that to her? She'll understand."

"Yes, she'll understand," Elsa says, "but I can't do that to her. She'll–she'll feel responsible, and she'll feel guilty that she hasn't been helping out. She'll skip things, like parties or outings; she'll probably drop out of school to find a job. And I can't–I can't ruin this for her. I want her to have fun, like a normal teenager."

"That's…" Rapunzel is at a loss, words stuck, wondering at just how selfless a person could be. "But that's unfair for you, too. I mean, how many jobs are you working again?"

"Three," Elsa says, "but we need the money. My university fees aren't going to pay itself."

"Elsa, seriously," Rapunzel says, and she pulls the girl into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Yeah."

Elsa squeezes Rapunzel, and the younger winces and pulls away.

"Sorry," Rapunzel says cheekily, patting her abdomen, "my waist screwed up when I was playing netball. Pushed myself too hard, apparently."

"That completely ruined the moment," Elsa deadpans, and Rapunzel laughs, and Elsa laughs, and for a second everything seems right in the world.

(But then Rapunzel turns and heads off into the kitchen. And Elsa knows, logically, that she's only a few steps away, but now she's alone in the room, surrounded by glaring white tables, and she feels like she's falling and falling and she can't ever stop.)

* * *

><p>Technically, Elsa's shift ends at nine. Technically, she should be home by at least nine-thirty. But it's not ten o'clock. She can't go back home yet.<p>

She and Rapunzel head off to the food district on the east end of the city. It's a short bus ride, made even shorter by the lack of traffic and time of night, and they roam in a maze of stalls selling foods from all over the world.

(Ten o'clock comes, and when the clock strikes, Elsa stiffens and looks up to the sky, chicken kebab temporarily forgotten in her hand, and Rapunzel is too busy stuffing her face in a bowl of noodles to notice.

Tonight, it's a deep, rolling blue. The sort of blue you associate with the depths of the oceans, smudged with inky black. One or two stars manage to fight their way out, the rest burned away by the bright lights of Stella Morta. And the moon, like a silver oyster, hangs suspended right at the very centre of this cosmic canvas.

And then ten o'clock is over, and Elsa lowers her head again to chuckle at a joke Rapunzel has just made.)

Rapunzel has university classes the next day, and so when they've eaten their belly's worth, Rapunzel waves a cheery goodbye and a "be careful on the way back!" and disappears.

(I stand there, drifting just behind Elsa as she lowers her hand. I am close enough to touch her.

I don't.)

It's just hit ten-thirty, but Elsa can't convince herself to leave yet.

"Anna's waiting," Elsa murmurs into the night air, as if saying it out loud will be enough for her to board the next bus home. "Don't make her wait."

Her words are lost, swallowed up by the moon, and no one hears. (No one, except me. But then again, I always do.)

* * *

><p>For a second, all Jack sees is black.<p>

His head is knocked around, cracking dangerously on the brick wall. He stumbles and slides onto the slick concrete, one hand thrown out to catch his fall. Fireworks burst in front of his eyes, and the ground is wavering dizzily. The smell of the alleyway heightens, and he feels himself dry-heave.

His stomach contracts as a well-aimed kick is delivered, and Jack focuses on trying not to puke out his dinner of curry and rice.

"So, little Spirit, looks like you aren't as strong as they say," a voice above him mutters. A rough, callused hand grabs him by the hair and drags him up. Jack opens his eyes blearily to find himself staring into the face of the gang member known as Scar.

STATISTICS

Name: Taka (last name unknown)  
>Alias: Scar<br>Title: the Betrayer (unofficial)  
>Position: King<br>Affiliations: the Pride  
>Favoured weapons:<br>brass knuckles, brass claws

Scar growls, black eyes glinting with sadistic delight. He and Jack had been at each other's necks for years now, ever since Jack had ridiculed him for filing his canines to lethally sharp points at an inter-gang meeting. Huge scabs run across Scar's face, tearing it apart in a conflict of white and pink flesh. His right eye doesn't close properly, the socket cracked and broken too many times to be healthy and too many times to heal completely right.

"Oh?" Jack breathes, giving Scar a smile stained with blood. "So the Betrayer King is out doing the dirty work. How pitiful."

His comment is rewarded by a punch to the jaw.

"You took out one of my own," Scar hisses. "You have to pay."

"What? You mean the ones you call the Hyenas?" Jack says, and he's dancing a terrible dance around the edges of Scar's wrath. "_Ha_! So the mighty Betrayer _cares_! How _sweet_ of you!"

"I'll kill you–"

"Oh."

Both Scar and Jack turn to the entrance of the alleyway. Standing there silhouetted against the glow of life behind her, a girl stands frozen, feet glued to the ground, eyes wide with Fear.

(I drift closer to her. I breathe down her neck.)

"Get out of here," Scar grunts. "Stay out of this, this isn't your place."

(I reach out a hand; I lift it just over the girl's heart. I nudge her. The girl gives a small whimper, and she bolts away.)

* * *

><p>Elsa is walking along a side-street, away from the buzz of the markets, but close enough to be able to shout for help if need be. She's eyeing the alleys warily, always cautious, always on guard (it's taken her years to get to here, to get to the point where she doesn't jump at the slightest sounds and is able to go into dark, isolated places without screaming out in fear).<p>

And then suddenly, a girl is running in her direction, and Elsa barely has time to process that before the girl dashes headfirst into her and knocks her over.

By the time Elsa gets up, the girl is long gone.

"Really?" Elsa yells after her. She picks up her bag and, grumbling, continues on her way.

But then she hears voices. And they're low and guttural, and Elsa knows it's probably gang business. She knows she should just keep on walking. But something makes her turn her head into a shadowed alley and halt completely at what she sees.

* * *

><p>Really, I must commend Elsa for her stupidity. I appear perhaps five seconds after Elsa stops, when the situation catches up with her and I am bidden to come as Fear. I search Elsa's thoughts, lightly sifting through her emotions, to find out exactly why she was afraid. Of course, there's the obvious: two gang members beating each other up, and Elsa being in the wrong place at the wrong time.<p>

But there is something more, and it takes me around half a minute, but then I realise that Elsa had been attacked in an alley like this, a long time ago. When the night flowed by like a speeding train, and a man with gold for teeth and clubs for hands smashed her down onto the slimy ground and ripped her skirt aside.

I want to say I'm sorry. I want to express to her that I am sorry that ever happened to her, and that no one should ever deserve something like that. (I witnessed the whole thing; it was terrible to watch, but I was not allowed to look away. I had a job to do.

Sometimes, I hate my job.)

I don't say a word. Talking is against my rules.

* * *

><p>The distraction of yet <em>another <em>girl is enough for Scar's hold on him to loosen. Jack uses this to his advantage, crashing his elbow into Scar's nose. Scar howls and lets go automatically, and Jack clumsily kicks at his knees and then gets up and _sprints_.

He pulls the girl by the arm, yanking her away from an extremely furious Scar because he'd feel bad if he finds the girl dead on the front of a newspaper the following morning just because Scar is feeling particularly murderous.

"Move faster!" he hollers behind his shoulder; the girl is panting already.

They lose Scar in the market crowds, and Jack and the girl huddle down next to a stall as they catch their breath. Jack's vision is swimming, and he's trying to figure out if he has a concussion or not.

The girl is shaking, Jack sees. She has white hair that spills over her back and ends at her elbows, most of it falling out of her loose ponytail. Her eyes are large twin pools of blue, framed by thick lashes, and she's wearing an employee button-down shirt that reads THE RED LILY in curling crimson stitching at the breast pocket.

"You–" the girl wheezes, and she staggers upwards. "I–leave–you–away."

"Hey, wait," Jack calls after her; she's already stumbling off in the opposite direction.

"What?" the girl snaps, rounding on him. Her face is flushed red.

"Some help?" Jack asks, spreading his arms. He knows he looks like a mess, and he doesn't want to go back to Headquarters because Bunnymund is never going to let him live this down.

The girl gapes at him disbelievingly. "Go to a hospital! Leave me alone!"

Jack sets his jaw. Using the last bit of his effort, and he hurries over and blocks her path. "I wasn't asking," he says almost inaudibly. His voice has changed, and there's a dark outline in his eyes. The girl steps back, hands quivering.

And then she turns around and flees. Jack stares after her for a moment.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>It's eleven-fifteen, and Elsa slides down the door she has just locked, dragging a hand down her face as she tries to calm her jumping heart.<p>

"Elsa?" Anna's footsteps are growing louder, and she gasps when she sees Elsa lying against their front door. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

Anna had been planning on giving her sister the silent treatment, but that is forgotten when she panics because she'd thought Elsa had had a stroke or something.

"I'm fine," Elsa says tiredly, forcing herself up, "really. I just had a really long night."

There's a knock on the door, and Elsa groans and turns around and opens the door a crack. "Who is–?"

The boy from the alleyway is collapsed in the hallway, and even as she opens, he sways forward and rests heavily on her. Her knees buckle under his weight, and she's a hair's breadth away from shoving him off.

"Seriously," the boy mumbles into her shirt, face pressed against her neck, "you were hard to follow. Almost lost you a few times. Really… need help."

And then he passes out, and Elsa gawks at Anna, who gawks back, and both sisters try exceptionally hard not to scream.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback from last chapter. it's really reassured me, and i love you guys seriously ;A;

updated: 17 february 2014


	3. Bleed

a lot of disney characters do appear as sides!

**cameos:** shang from _mulan_ and scar from _the lion king_, mentioned in passing (will also probably become part of the minor cast); hyenas from _the lion king_, mentioned in passing (members from scar's gang); **important:** doctor facilier from _the princess and the frog_ (will become part of permanent cast).

**chapter three: **bleed

* * *

><p>Apartment number: 9B<br>Residents: 2  
>Name(s): Elsa Queen, Anna Queen<br>Special notes: they have an  
>unconscious boy in their doorway,<br>and he is bleeding.

* * *

><p>(The ticking clock cracks through the air.)<p>

The boy lies on the ground like a beached whale, cold and wounded, thrown there haphazardly by a panicking girl of twenty-one. He's out of place in this sterile household. He's a smear on the wall, a pin not quite pressed in on an otherwise perfectly tacked board. The boy, in his wet black jeans, in his ripped shirt that is speckled with dirt, in the bruises that surround his jaw and the blood that trickles from his teeth, he is an anomaly in an otherwise complete linear graph.

And Elsa wants him gone, wants him to disappear from her home. He is an accidental blotch of green paint right in the middle of a flawless painting of the scarlet sunrise. He is a mistake.

"Anna, call the police," Elsa finds herself murmuring through numb lips. Anna nods, a robot obeying a simple command. Elsa stares at the boy some more, as if burning a hole into his face would make him vanish.

* * *

><p>(This is strange of me to say, but one of my favourite past times is watching humans panic. It's hugely entertaining, the way their eyes grow to the size of golf balls, the way their mouths open in a shriek, and way their hearts thud soundly in their chests. But I suppose in my line of work, this is the only way I can see humans at a length of time when they are not cowering with terror. Panic is a reaction that borders between fear, which is why I come, and shock. I barely see humans in anything other than in a state of loneliness and distress, and while I cannot say it becomes boring, it gets rather tedious at times.<p>

So perhaps this is why I find myself not minding the visit so much this time. Elsa, it seems, is panicking, and I settle myself on their couch while she tries to make sense of the situation.)

After a lifetime, Elsa rouses herself, and she rises, stumbling to her room and returning with a skipping rope and the cord of a dressing gown. She ties the boy's hands and feet clumsily, while Anna taps her fingers impatiently as she waits for a response on the other end.

But this is Stella Morta, and it's city that is rotten on the inside as well as the outside. It is no surprise that it takes almost a minute for her call to be picked up by the emergency department.

Anna rattles off the details, and the woman on the line assures her that people will be on their way.

"They say ten minutes," Anna relays quietly, "but there's no guarantee, Elsa."

"I know," Elsa whispers distractedly. Anna comes over and places a soothing hand on her sister's shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Anna says. She then bends over the boy, and in two smooth movements, reties the bindings on him into perfect knots. Elsa is too upset to question where she learned to do it so well.

Elsa's phone rings startlingly loud, and she jumps while Anna merely looks up in surprise.

* * *

><p>"Elsa! Hey, it's Rapunzel. I'm just checking if you got home safely ahahaha!"<p>

"Rapunzel."

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"Rapunzel. There's a boy in my apartment and he's unconscious and I think he's bleeding–"

"_What_? Shit, are you okay? What does he look like?"

"I'm fine. He's got white hair and he's my age and oh my god _Rapunzel he followed me home and he's bleeding what do I do_–"

"Have you called the police?"

"Y-yeah, but I don't know if they'll come because the police in this city is _shit _and if they don't come what am I supposed to do I can't just leave him here–"

"I'll be there in five minutes."

* * *

><p>It takes Rapunzel six minutes, but she's faster than the police. While they wait, Elsa and Anna simply stare at each other, and oddly enough, it is Anna who is calm while Elsa tries not to hyperventilate.<p>

Everything is silent, and only Elsa's frantic breaths puncture the air. Neither of them think about turning on the lights, so the room is coated in a silky sort of darkness, and there is just enough light from the moon and the city to see the boy and the red that surrounds him.

The ticking clocks cracks through the air.

Rapunzel arrives, and she's panting, blonde hair in disarray, but Elsa almost faints from relief. She takes one look at the boy, and then drops to the ground and checks his pulse and then his entire body.

"Rapunzel," Elsa says, as if saying her name will make the situation better.

"He's got a knife sticking out from his arm," Rapunzel says, slightly breathless, and points to the almost-hidden injury within the folds of his long coat. "Elsa, do you think you can help him?"

"But–"

"Elsa, the police probably won't come, and if they do they'll take hours. They have better things to do than arrest a petty gang member while banks are being robbed on the other side of the city and fucking gunmen keep opening fire at will."

"I–I'm only a medical _student_, not an official practitioner. My practical work–I'm not–"

"Just check him over, make sure there's nothing life-threatening," Rapunzel cuts in gently. Her green eyes shine bright in the dim light. She fiddles with the knots, and says, "Okay, I've made extra sure the ropes are tight. If he wakes up and attacks, it won't be very successful."

Elsa takes a deep breath. "Anna, go to your room. _Please_."

There is a moment's hesitation, and then Anna cocks her head and walks away, closing the door gently behind her, but not before casting one last glance at the boy.

Elsa doesn't know why she agrees, but there's a small part of her that is relieved for something to do. The silent waiting is driving her crazy, and she finds herself hurrying over to the cabinet and taking down the first-aid kit before her mind can catch up with her.

"I think it's best if we leave the knife in there until we have professional help," Elsa mutters. With a quick finger, she lifts up each of the boy's eyelids one at a time and shines a small torch into his pupils. "Slight concussion; he should get checked up later."

She carefully opens the boy's coat, making sure to not jostle the blade too much, and lifts his shirt up. There are bruises budding like ugly flowers across his chest, but after a few presses, confirms that no ribs are broken. She lifts the shirt up higher, and then gasps. Beside her, Rapunzel stiffens.

"Red Crown," Elsa chokes. Her gaze is trained on the tattoo, clear and bold, the King of Hearts staring back at her with black eyes. The roman number for three is inked on the right. "Oh my god, I have a Red Crown in my apartment. And he's _third-in-command_."

Her voice is unable to go above a whisper.

"Elsa," Rapunzel hisses, "Elsa, calm down. Stay quiet; don't let Anna hear. Just–_breathe_."

Trying to let go of the breath she's holding, Elsa gulps and drops the shirt.

"Okay, okay," Elsa whimpers. "Okay, I'll just–okay."

"Just think of him as a patient. He's just a patient, just a regular guy," Rapunzel intones. "You're fine, alright?"

"Okay."

Taking another breath, Elsa reaches out shaking fingers and gently turns his head this way and that.

"Anything bad?" Rapunzel asks.

"His face has taken a beating, but the damages will heal with time," Elsa says, forcing her voice to stay even. "For a fight, he's walked out pretty well, actually."

Rapunzel chuckles hollowly.

"You'll make a great doctor," she says softly.

* * *

><p>Elsa packs the medical kit up, and she walks slowly back into the kitchen, head reeling.<p>

Because there's a Red Crown in her apartment.

And he is third-in-command.

But she barely as time to process anything before there is a cry from the doorway, and Elsa drops the medical kit and rushes back, only to find Rapunzel wheezing and clutching her stomach. Red is blooming across her shirt, and the boy is gone.

"What happened?" Elsa croaks, and she can't move. She can't move, because Rapunzel is bleeding and _she's not supposed to be bleeding_.

"He woke up," Rapunzel gasps, "and he got free."

There is a knife lying near her, the one from the boy's arm, and it blinks up at Elsa innocently, silver glinting dully. It's bloody, and Rapunzel is bleeding.

Rapunzel is bleeding.

Elsa runs forward and she holds a hand to Rapunzel's wound, and she's unsure of what's going on because the world is spinning and someone keeps saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god," but she doesn't know who it is until Rapunzel shushes her.

Elsa isn't aware that she's crying until the tears drip down, and Rapunzel is shockingly unruffled and says, "It's fine, it's shallow, just do what you always do, okay? Pretend this is just a practical test. You're fine, Elsa."

(I rest a hand lightly on Elsa's forehead. At Rapunzel's words, I withdraw.

Elsa is getting braver, quite different from the terrified little girl she used to be.)

* * *

><p>It's midnight, and Stella Morta is alive. It's midnight, and in Apartment Block Alpha, room 9B, a girl named Elsa Queen saves the life of her friend, Rapunzel Corona who was stabbed by a Red Crown gang member.<p>

(Anna Queen stays in her room. Anna Queen is unaware.)

"I need to go," Rapunzel says, and she hobbles up and heads to the door.

"Don't be crazy," Elsa snaps. "You just got stabbed, you need to go to the hospital to get it checked. Come on, I'll drive you–"

"I have faith in your abilities," Rapunzel winks. And then, a shadow veils her face when she sees Elsa open her mouth again. "No, seriously, Elsa. I need to go home. I'm not supposed to be out, please, just let me go home, okay? I'll be fine."

"The wound needs to be looked after properly," Elsa says firmly. "It might get infected, and I think it needs stitches."

"Elsa," Rapunzel says, and there is steel in her voice and ice in her eyes. "Let me go home."

The ticking clock cracks through the air.

"Let me drive you, at least," Elsa says finally. Rapunzel nods once.

* * *

><p>It's quiet in the car, and Elsa's mind is strangely clear. Anna sits in the back seat; Elsa refused to leave her alone in the apartment, and Rapunzel is holding a hand absent-mindedly against her stomach as she sits shotgun.<p>

"I don't have the money to pay the medical bills," Rapunzel says, and her voice splinters the silence as loud as a whip. "Going to the hospital would be useless."

And suddenly, as Elsa peeks at her friend out of the corner of her eyes, Rapunzel isn't quite so cheerful anymore; the wings on her feet have withered away, the sun in her smile gone behind a cloud. Suddenly, Rapunzel is small and young and frail, a girl wearing clothes ten times too big for her, trying to fill in the shoes of a giant. Suddenly, Elsa wants to cry; she wants to clutch the wheel and steer them off a cliff, because what kind of life are they leading, in a city that's lifeless and alive at the same time? A city that cares for nothing, buildings grey and empty and bustling with people who are only concerned with their own bubble, their own world. What the fuck are they supposed to do?

(You survive and live to tell the tale, that's what.)

* * *

><p>Side note:<br>the police never come.

* * *

><p>In the north side of Stella Morta, there's a high-class club and bar that serves as the meeting spot for notorious gang members. Called The Crimson Rose, it opens throughout the night, seven days a week, and its patrons range from dirty bounty hunters looking for prey, to gentlemen and ladies looking for a good time and good alcohol.<p>

At one in the morning, a rag-tag boy of twenty-one stumbles to The Crimson Rose's back door, and groans as the heady bass vibrates through his shoes. He stomps up the stairs, ignoring the mass of seething bodies on the dance floor, and then knocks heavily on a door hidden away behind the turn of a corridor titled VIP MEMBERS ONLY.

* * *

><p>"Jack," someone gasps, and Jack's vision is blurring. He swallows back the vomit that threatens to tear up his throat, and when cool arms take on his weight, he all but flops down like a limp fish out of water. He feels himself getting lowered onto the couch, and he splutters something incoherent at the ceiling.<p>

Toothiana's face swims into view, purple eyes blinking worriedly at him as she slaps him awake. "Jack, don't pass out. Jack, come on, don't go to sleep."

"What the fuck happened to you, mate?" laughs a familiar voice. Bunnymund bends over him, vodka bottle in one hand and a stack of cards in the other, chortling happily as if his friend isn't about to die from exhaustion.

"Walked all the way here from the east end," Jack blubbers. "Fucking… got stabbed. Fucking Scar…"

"_Scar_?" Toothiana hisses, and she pauses while checking his arm. "That bastard; one of his Hyenas tried to get Shang a few hours ago; ambushed him just as he left the restaurant."

"Heh…" Jack chuckles, and he feels blood coating his tongue, "we're Crowns. The fucking Pride's got nothing on us."

He _feels _Toothiana roll her eyes. "I forgot he becomes an arrogant prick when he's delirious."

"He's an arrogant prick all the time, though," Bunnymund disagrees.

"Not _all _the time… most of the time."

"No way, all the time."

"Half the time?"

"Guys," Jack interrupts, and black spots are growing in his vision. "Like, dying here?"

"Oh, sorry, Jack," Toothiana chirps, and Jack huffs slightly, spitting out blood.

* * *

><p>Every gang has a rival. It's almost an unwritten rule, an unspoken command. I suppose that this is the nature of humans, really. They always find a reason to fight each other, to prove dominion over their fellow man.<p>

Because for some reason, humans have a strange attraction to blood. Some bathe in it, lick it off their blades, eyes alight with fevered excitement. Others recoil, disgusted and appalled.

(But no matter how much you claim to love someone, when their blood touches your toes, you always back away. How horrifically weak of you.)

Let me introduce to you Ange Noir, a gang of twenty-odd persons of varying ages. Their King is a rumoured past witch doctor named Facilier. They are the second most powerful gang after the Red Crowns, but only by a little. There are many smaller gangs under them, and they run the east side of the city.

Their second-in-command is a man named Hans Öman, and he wants the position of King.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

the southern isles are apparently supposed to be near either denmark or sweden, and I chose swedan to be hans' familial origins, just because. öman is a swedish last name meaning 'man from the island'. this is not just a reference to his character in the movie, but also his entire role in this story. **edit: 1 July 2015, it's been revealed canonically that hans' last name is westergård, but for the sake of consistency, i'll leave it as öman.**

ange noir is french for black angel, because doctor facilier is supposed to have french origins and he's their king. and black angel because like opposite of white and it's like fallen angel and devil and representing their motives and their role and idk.

the number 9 is considered lucky in norway (according to an internet source; please shoot me down if i'm wrong), hence elsa and anna's apartment is on level 9. i chose 9B because b is the second letter in the alphabet and there are two of them. aha.

everything is super messy, but it'll all make sense later.

thank you for all your support so far :)

updated: 22 February 2014


	4. Liar

**inspired by:** idk.

**rating:** t for language.

**warning:** plot reveals ehurhurhur.

**notes:** none.

**cameos: **hermes from _hercules_; aphrodite from _hercules _(mentioned in passing); huns and shan yu from _mulan_ (mentioned in passing).

**chapter four:** liar

* * *

><p>There is a quote from a man named Andre Berthiaume that for some reason, I always remember. He said, "We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."<p>

I suppose it's stuck with me, because I understand the concept of masks better than anything. I am Loneliness, and the people I visit all cower behind masks of strength and security and joy.

It's an unpleasant thing, and sometimes I wonder why, because ultimately, you're just lying to yourself. Why do you try to hide me, when I will always lurk just beneath the surface? I am Loneliness, and I never leave humans alone. As long as the human consciousness exists, I will be there.

Don't wear the masks, you liar. Don't pretend to be happy when you're not, you liar. Why are you fantasizing to be anything but yourself? Why are you trying to be happy just to make someone else happy? It's useless, in the end, because you are alone in your life, and ultimately, you will die very much alone.

* * *

><p>Hans Öman is twenty-two years old, a member of Ange Noir, and he is dating Anna Queen.<p>

(I can see your faces at this moment. I know how this story will end, you are thinking. How boring, you are thinking.

Well, I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Don't let your preconceptions cloud your judgment. Don't be like all the other fools who underestimated Hans Öman, and don't ridicule _me_.

I am an excellent storyteller.)

I want to talk about Hans for a minute, because he is a noteworthy fellow. He, for one, is a brilliant actor. He worms his way into Ange Noir quite late, in fact, when he is twenty-one. That was three years ago. Now, at twenty-four, he's somehow impressed the King so much that he's promoted to second-in-command in the space of three years when it usually takes at least five to even have a high-ranking position within a gang.

Hans is a prodigy, his skills of strategy near unparalleled for his age and occupation. And he interests me, because with his level of intelligence, he could be anything he chooses to be, but instead he walks down the path of a criminal.

He's the chick of a cuckoo bird, dropped into a foreign nest to leech off the care of the host mother bird.

(And one day, when he fully emerges from his egg, he will kill off his other hatchlings, and survive as the victor.)

* * *

><p>[queen apartment]<p>

"Anna, where are you going?" Elsa asks suspiciously. "It's six o'clock at night."

Anna stands before her, dressed in a short red dress and eleven-centimetre heels. She has let her hair down, and there is a scowl on her face.

"Clubbing," Anna says brusquely.

"You're not eighteen yet," Elsa says blandly.

"I will be in a month," Anna snaps, flicking some hair over her shoulder. "Elsa, I need to go or I'll be late."

Elsa crosses her arms and stands in front of the door. "Anna."

Something dark crosses across Anna's face. It's fleeting, gone the next second, but Elsa sees it. And it scares her.

"Anna, please. I don't like it when you're by yourself at night. And wearing stuff like this. What if you get attacked?" Elsa is almost begging, but Anna's expression doesn't change.

"You always go out at night," Anna says quietly, and her nails dig into the fabric of her clutch. "Always. And you leave me alone in this apartment till almost midnight. Don't be a hypocrite."

Elsa has no argument against that. "Hasn't what happened last night scared you? What if he comes back?"

"He won't," Anna says simply.

"But you're not even eighteen, you're not officially an adult yet. Don't go around doing illegal things–"

Anna barks a laugh, and it's harsh and cold and notAnna, not her sibling, it's unrecognisable. "Open your eyes; I grew up a long time ago, Elsa."

She spits out her sister's name like an insult, and she pushes past Elsa and slams the door on her way out.

Elsa is left alone, and shadows are dancing on her skin, waltzing along to the dull thud of her heart.

She sinks to the ground, but she doesn't cry. Her eyes are dry, but her throat burns with something hot and excruciating. She curls there, leaning against a wall that presses back, white and, under the dull kitchen lights, the apartment seems to close, drawing together as if Anna's departure had pulled the drawstrings around her.

She's fucked up.

Because she _knows _she's a hypocrite, and she knows she's a terrible sister, she knows that she's left Anna all by herself in this apartment almost every night, leaving her vulnerable to the demons that lurk in the corners and cackle in the darkness. But she's so, so, selfish, so unable to even go near Anna, because she's afraid that she will taint her, so afraid that Anna will look into her eyes and see something broken and ugly and useless inside.

And she can't let Anna see, so she pushes her away and closes herself off. And now Anna is angry, and Elsa knows that it's her fault.

Tonight, it is Elsa who sits at the dinner table, staying past twelve in the morning, waiting for the door to open and for her sister to come home.

* * *

><p>Moonlight presses gently into the folds of the pavement, shining through the cracks and illuminating two dark figures that stand in the cool embrace of night right outside of a club. The street is bustling with people, mostly drunk, and their presence goes unnoticed.<p>

"So I hear you and Miss Anna Queen are dating," one says slyly. He taps on his ebony cane, fingers resting on the twin snakes that encircle themselves. "Since when did the almighty Hans decide he was good enough to commit himself?"

"Shut up, Hermes," Hans says, giving him a long-suffering sigh. "It's casual; Anna is fine with it, and I'm fine with it, so shut your mouth."

Hermes gives him a mock shove. "Easy there, Hans. It's not like I'm going to go off and tell the Crowns, you know."

Hans gives him a narrow-eyed glare. "Sometimes, I really don't know where your loyalties lie. You fucking blabber everything to everyone without an regard for us."

"Well, they didn't give me the title of Hermes for nothing," the older man snorts. "It's my job to deliver information. And anyway, I'm careful. I don't reveal things that aren't beneficial to us. Count your lucky stars that Aphrodite hasn't found out yet; your relationship will be all over the news by the time she's done with it."

Both men pause when two giggling girls stumble past. When they're gone, Hans exhales and says irritably, "Why did you call me out here, Hermes, if not to grill me about my love life?"

"Nothing," Hermes trills. Hans doesn't believe him. "Anyway, did you hear of the gun fight in one of our brothels? A couple of girls got hurt. Apparently one of the clients brought it in and got pissed when a girl got rebellious. I think his name was Weselton?"

Hans scoffs. "He's dead."

"Nah, they're not going to kill him," Hermes says carelessly, "at most, he'll lose a hand or something." The man pauses and snickers. "Or maybe his dick."

"The King isn't going to be happy," Hans murmurs. "We're going to have to draw some funds for their medical bills."

"Those girls are lucky we even care," Hermes sniffs. "Any other gang would leave them there to help themselves."

"That's because it'll be a bigger loss replacing them if any of them die from the wounds," Hans says methodically.

There's a figure walking briskly through the club-goers, and she catches Hans' eye as she expertly dodged a drunken man and squeezed past a group of rowdy boys. Her head is pulled down low, chin almost touching her chest, the picture of the timid, scared, and out-of-place girl. But Hans sees the way she effortlessly ducks towards the least hostile of people, the way she seems to pick the dimmest spots to go into, keeping her hidden and low profile.

"Hey, I know her," Hermes says, noticing the direction of Hans' gaze. "Hey, Rapunzel!"

The girl's head jerks up, and Hans notes that her hand twitches into the folds of her black trench coat. However, when she sees who it is, her face relaxes, though her lips remain hard.

"Rover!" Rapunzel says, and Hans almost chokes on his spit.

"Rover?" Hans hisses out through the side of his mouth as Rapunzel comes closer.

Hermes shrugs cheerfully and says, "She's a civilian. Shut up."

"But–Rover?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Hello," Rapunzel says, and closer up she is actually quite young, perhaps only twenty or so. Her eyes are emerald orbs, and there is a strange fire within them. And suddenly, as he replays everything he's observed about her in the last minute, Hans _sees_.

"Hi," Hans says, and he makes sure his voice is friendly and whisked with sugar. "I'm Hans."

"Rapunzel," the girl says. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, seemingly uncomfortable. "Listen, Rover, it's nice to see you and all, but I need to go. It's late."

"Ah," Hermes says with a little smirk of understanding. "Your boyfriend isn't going to be happy."

Balling her fists, Rapunzel becomes defensive. "Shut it, Rover. He's just protective."

"He's abusive," Hermes says plainly. "You have _all _the signs, Rapunzel. Stop denying it."

"You don't know him like I do," Rapunzel says, and she draws herself to her full height.

"Well, I know that he's the biggest fucking dick I've ever had the displeasure of meeting, and that you deserve way better," Hermes says, shuddering visibly.

Hans clears his throat, and Rapunzel colours, forgetting that he is there. With a huff and a sharp nod, Rapunzel spins on her heel and stalks away.

"You were embarrassing her," Hans mutters.

"I've known her for a few years," Hermes says, and his voice is suddenly very small. "It kind of annoys me to see her being treated so badly."

"It's not like you can talk," Hans says, raising an eyebrow. "She thinks your name is Rover."

"It's not like I can let her call me Hermes," the other snaps.

"But it's not like Rover is your real name anyway," Hans counters, but he's absent-minded, following Rapunzel's retreating figure.

* * *

><p>Rapunzel can feel eyes on her.<p>

(She doesn't mean me, though. No one can see me. For all intents and purposes, I am nothing.)

She's hurrying along a narrow street, and she keeps a tight hold on the penknife she keeps in her pocket. It's late, and she's late, and he won't be happy.

Her stomach twinges, warning her to decrease her speed. Rapunzel gulps in breaths of cold air, the muscles in her belly crying out as the wound, not even close to being fully healed, aches again.

Rapunzel curses her unlucky circumstances, but it's not like she's ever been truly lucky. Born into the world with drug-abusing parents, it's a miracle she's escaped her youth physically unscathed, and she left as soon as she turned eighteen, packing up a small bag of clothes and a jar of memories, and she walks out and never looks back.

(But there is a gash deep in her soul, a tear that boils black and bubbles with something like rage and grief and regret. But it's arcane and hidden; no one is allowed to know except her. No one is allowed to _see _except her, when she buries her face into a smelly pillow and her thoughts wander like dandelion seeds in harsh wind.)

The streets soon give way to known roads and shops. The north sector of Stella Morta is run by the Red Crowns, and it's infamous for its drug-dealers and warehouses at the edge filled with illegal weaponry. Business is excellent, as expected of a city like this.

Rapunzel heads straight to a small, run-down motel at the end of a street. Its neon lights feebly flash out THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING, coughing out red and green and white. It is only two storeys, with too-low ceilings and a balcony that quivers and creaks like old bones. Inside, the carpet is the skin of a wrinkly orange, and the air is alive with dust motes that swirl and churn in tiny tornados.

On the first floor, second door to the right, there's a door that has a chip in the wood, right next to the handle. It stands alone; all other doors are on the left hand side, a solitary opening in the vast stretch of wall that seems to go on and on like a faded blue wave.

With one slender hand, Rapunzel twists the knob and opens it. A breeze sings out, smelling of something cool and salty.

"You're late," a voice rings out.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel says, and she closes the door behind her.

* * *

><p>It's been two days since Anna went clubbing, and yet the atmosphere between the two sisters is still frigid. They could barely manage to stay in the same room as each other before one excused herself to do something else. Elsa doesn't know how to fix it. Logically, of course, she would apologise, but something holds her back, clogs her throat whenever she tries to open her mouth.<p>

Elsa doesn't want to admit it, but deep down, she doesn't _want _to apologise. Anna doesn't understand, has never _understood_. Elsa has sacrificed her childhood to give Anna something better. Their parents had died when Anna was nine (almost ten); she misses them, but doesn't remember much of them. Elsa, as eldest, was left to shoulder the burden, to be the head of the household of two.

The pair had never really struggled, though. Gerda (kind, kind, generous Gerda) had been willing to lend them a hand until Elsa turned eighteen. So Anna was free to run around and play games and princesses, while Elsa, at the tender age of thirteen, was busy planning for a future that would come in five short years.

So as a stress reliever, Elsa took to the streets at night, leaving Anna by herself in an house that's too big and too empty and too sterile, but she can't bring herself to go back before at least eight o'clock.

And then That Night happened, and everything was set back. Elsa lost her words, and she was left alone to struggle through the pain. Always _alone_.

(Anna was free. She was free and happy and _blind_.)

Elsa took on her first job at fifteen. At seventeen, she had two. On her eighteenth birthday, Elsa and Anna moved out of the house that contained too many memories, and they shuffled into a little apartment in the middle of Stella Morta. Gerda (lovely, lovely, big-hearted Gerda) helped pay half of Elsa's university fees. Even so, it wasn't enough. Halfway through her eighteenth year, Elsa was working three jobs.

And again, Elsa finds that ambling through the nightlife calms her nerves, but this time, she won't return until a certain time.

Ten o'clock, for Elsa, is a barrier.

But with all these things going on, Anna has never noticed, never cared. She spends her days sleeping through classes and partying in the night. And Elsa, who lost her teenage years to hours of scrubbing dishes and scanning overpriced supermarket items and serving grumpy customers, is jealous of Anna's life. And the fact that Anna unknowingly rubs it in her face almost every day has caused a small ball of hard, cold jealousy to form in the pit of her stomach. Because here she is, overworked and exhausted and smelling like grease, while Anna flounces home in the pretty dresses and sparkly heels and fresh makeup.

It's unfair, Elsa wants to scream.

And she's so conflicted, because sometimes she wants to fling her apron into Anna's face and tell her to start lifting her weight. But then, the momentary rage she feels disappears, and she's ashamed that she'd ever thought something like that, because she's doing all this now so Anna could have a better future and not suffer like she did.

Her love for Anna always overpowers that tiny, ugly, envious part of her, so she keeps her mouth shut and works on in silence.

(Her love is overpowering, that is true. But you can't lie and say the jealousy isn't there. It is, and it always will be, a monster with teeth of pain and claws of poison.)

"Anna," Elsa says quietly, suddenly, but the younger girl has already left the room. She sighs.

* * *

><p>It's nine-thirty at The Red Lily, and Elsa and Rapunzel have stayed overtime to clean up a particularly messy banquet that had started at six. The roaring patrons had just left, and Elsa and Rapunzel stare at the warzone for a few minutes before they grudgingly move into action.<p>

"Wait, no, I'll do that," Elsa says, and she quickly takes the stack of plates off Rapunzel. "You shouldn't strain yourself or your injury will take longer to heal. And it'll hurt."

Rapunzel laughs, and Elsa isn't sure, but it sounds flat and a little bit sad. "It's fine, Elsa."

The younger girl looks tired today, deep purple hanging from her eyes. Her blonde hair, usually glowing and beautifully braided, is dull and tied up in a harried ponytail. Her frame bends, as if chained balls weigh it down. She's released her top two buttons, and the restaurant's uniform, usually always crisp and neat, droops off of her like clothes on a line.

"Are you alright?" Elsa asks softly.

"Yeah." Rapunzel gives her a smile that does nothing but lift the corners of her mouth.

They work quietly after that, and just as Elsa is wrapping up the tablecloths and taking it to the back, the kitchen door swings open just shy of Elsa's nose, and Shang the head chef pokes his head out. Elsa likes him; Shang is friendly and open, and always gives her free food to take home after her shift.

But now, the Chinese man's eyes are wide, and he completely ignores Elsa as he searches frantically for Rapunzel. It seemed like he was in the middle of changing; his white chef's shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a black wife beater and numerous tattoos underneath. At such a close distance, Elsa finds herself staring at the smooth expanse of muscle on show. But that's not what caught her attention. Her eyes are trained on his left collarbone, because it's unmistakable, and Elsa feels her breath hitch in her throat.

"Red Crown," she whispers. The King of Hearts seems to laugh at her at his place on Shang's skin.

Shang doesn't hear her though. He's shouting at Rapunzel, who's frozen like a block of ice.

"Rapunzel, they're here," Shang snarls. He's a blur, striding over to her and pulling her towards the kitchen in a grip that's impossible to escape. "Cops, Rapunzel! Fucking cops! The Tooth Fairy just called in; they're after you! They've found you, and you gotta run!"

Rapunzel gapes at him for a second longer, and then she springs into action.

"I'll go to the safe house in the west end," Rapunzel says, picking up her bag from under the counter and slinging it over her shoulder. "Tell the higher-ups that, okay?"

Shang nods once, curt and short.

"Give me a call when this dies down," Rapunzel adds. "I hate the west safe house; it smells like sweat and sex."

"Wait," Elsa interrupts, and she's terribly confused and lost and bewildered. "Wait, Rapunzel, what's going on? I don't understand–"

"I'm sorry, Elsa," Rapunzel says, and she's talking quickly but she looks at Elsa directly, and Elsa sees a sliver of remorse in the depths of green. "I'm sorry I had to lie, and that this is how you found out."

There's a sinking feeling in her gut, and Elsa is beginning to stick together the puzzle. She's beginning to realise, but she refuses to entertain the notion that Rapunzel is anything but who she said she was.

Because it can't be. Rapunzel _can't be_.

Rapunzel's bag drags her shirt partially open. And Elsa sees, for the second time that night, the King of Hearts peeking out from underneath a jutting shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel repeats, and she knows that Elsa knows.

There's a sweet, perfumed hug, and then Rapunzel vanishes through the back door in a flurry of gold.

Seconds later, police cars pull up at the front.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

(this a/n is super long and i'm sorry but some explanations are needed for this chapter's contents.)

[tl;dr: rapunzel is an actress who deserves an oscar; my hints suck; loneliness is fucked up; more details; elsa and anna's relationship is a reflection of the movie; elsa is human; jack and elsa won't meet till ch. 6 really sorry.]

well idk what happened there. kidding, i do.

did you even suspect rapunzel wasn't who she said she was? i did hint at some things ever since i first introduced her, which you guys probably didn't pick up and which i will go into detail later on. and shang: he oversaw jack's initiation in ch. 2, and tooth said that a hyena tried to ambush him _just as he left the restaurant_ in ch. 3. the restaurant. the only restaurant here is the red lily… okay i have a feeling my hints were really bad.

loneliness is a narrator who has many different facets to his character. there are some reasons why this is so, which will be revealed later. here, at the beginning, he's quite vindictive, unlike his usual neutral self. also, i apologise for giving loneliness a gender, but it's extremely hard to remain gender-neutral, especially when i need to refer to him. however, if you want to think of loneliness as female or androgynous, feel free to do so.

rover means traveler, an allusion to hermes' role as messenger and god of travels.

elsa is not like the sibling in stories where CHARACTER IS THE PERFECT OLDER SIBLING AND SACRIFICES _EVERYTHING_ FOR YOUNGER SIBLING AND CRIES DRAMATICALLY ALL BY HERSELF IN A BATHROOM UNTIL LOVE INTEREST ENTERS because i find that unrealistic. elsa is her own person, and she's at the age where she wants to do things for herself now, but she still has to take care of anna and she's a bit angry about that. also, anna is also not as clueless as you might believe, so wait for her side of the story before you judge her completely.

i'm sorry that it's taking so long for jack and elsa to actually like meet officially. but idk this story has to be slow (soi'vedecidedtobe_really_fuckingslow) and those two probably won't meet until ch. 6 or something.

omfg this a/n was like 500 words long i'm so sorry to the people who actually read it.

but haha rapunzel. you guys were all JACK YOU DICK HOW COULD YOU HURT HER but then this happened.

updated: 27 february 2014


	5. The Assemblea

**notes:** assemblea = italian for 'assembly'. this chapter has many typos and tense mistakes, which i'll fix. later. super sorry, guys!

**cameos:** zeus from _hercules_.

**chapter five:** the assemblea

* * *

><p>Darkness, it seems, is alive. Now, of course, you might all roll your eyes and nod and say, "Yes, yes, it's been described as such many, many times, in fiction and words and stories and every other depressed individual out there."<p>

But no, no, don't you roll your eyes at me, insolent humans. You have _never_ felt it; you, who sit on your computer and tap tap tap away on your keyboard. You, who parties all night and drink your liver away. You, who only knows of the brighter side of life, who was born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You, who will never understand this churning, churning, roiling feeling that settles in the guts.

Oh, but I suppose I can't stick that label on each and every one of you. You humans are so different, each experience the same but vastly complex, and no one lives the same life as the one next to you. I suppose perhaps some of you might understand, and I suppose others might never understand.

Well, I'll try to explain to you, and it'll be up to you whether or not you perceive yourself to be able to comprehend this. It's not like I really care, except that I do, but I don't, and I like humans because you're so differently the same that it drives me mad, sometimes.

You humans drive me mad, because I am Loneliness, and I drive _you _mad.

* * *

><p>The VIP lounge above The Crimson Rose is static without the pain, a room of silent statues with cold, pumping hearts.<p>

Only one moves in this angry silence. Jack leans back on his place on the leather couch, and he sighs and pulls a pack of Marlboros from his right pocket and a lighter from his other.

"Want one?" he asks Bunnymund, who shoots him a glare of daggers. Jack shrugs. "Your loss."

He lights the cigarette, and the spark seems to unfreeze the atmosphere, though it remains no less chilly.

"Tooth," Jack murmurs around the stick. "Tooth, calm the fuck down. You can't do anything about it now. Rapunzel can take care of herself."

Toothiana, in a floor-length dark blue gown and crystals glimmering at her throat, sighs out a breath that sounds as if it's been dragged through a sheet of knives, and Jack almost hears the ice cracking around her joints. "She's the head of our drug trade," Toothiana hisses, and she runs a hand through hair that's dyed an ocean green.

"Her men aren't fuckheads, Tooth," Jack counters. "They'll be able to run without her for a while, but ultimately we'll have to find someone to take her place until she comes back. But what's shit about this is that the Assemblea is coming up, and by now all the gangs of Stella Morta will know about this. It makes us look weak, and we can't afford that."

"The King said that we'll just maintain a strong front," Toothiana says. She paces around the room, and the men's eyes follow her as she walks. Then, she stops, whirls to them, and says, "Who was the fucker who tipped off the police?"

"Anonymous," Bunnymund says, and he flops down next Jack. "We traced it back to a phone call, but the voice is unidentifiable and it was made from a public phone."

"She can take care of herself," Jack repeats. He blows a smoke ring into the air, heavy-lidded eyes following the trail as it evaporates.

"She's never been chucked into prison before, though," Toothiana snaps. "And by the way, how the fuck did the police know about the west safe house?"

"We don't know, Tooth!" Bunnymund snarls, and he rises and stares her down. He stands taller than her, broad and strong, but Toothiana holds her ground. "There was probably someone tracking her."

"The police aren't that smart!" Toothiana says, and her voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "I want to find out how she was tracked, and I want the culprit brought before me. Bunny, this is your job, and that's an order."

Bunnymund bristles, grey eyes burning with fury. But then, he hisses through his teeth and says, "Fine."

"By the way," Jack pipes up, "I have a Hyena bound and gagged in the basement. He's in charge of Scar's human trafficking, so you might want him for a little while because he'll probably know most of Scar's contacts."

Toothiana pulls away and cracks a dead smile. "Perfect," she says sweetly, "I need to blow off some steam."

"Why are you looking so fancy anyway?" Bunnymund asks disdainfully, taking a swig of vodka, because that's all he drinks. "You look like some dandy little fairy princess. It's gross."

"Fuck you, Bunny," Toothiana says mildly. "I'm not called the Tooth Fairy for nothing. And you watch your tone with me; I'm your superior."

"But I've also known you since we were in diapers, so your position means nothing to me," Bunnymund mutters into his bottle.

Toothiana smacks the back of his head and picks up her dress. "I'll be in the other room. Jack, go to the west safe house and retrieve Rapunzel's phone and get what you can from it. Bunny, don't be a deadweight and do something useful."

After Toothiana disappears, Bunnymund sighs and throws his empty bottle onto the table. "How many teeth do you think she'll collect after she's done with the Hyena?"

"Ten," Jack says immediately. He leans forward, blue eyes glittering with a challenge.

"No way," Bunnymund snickers, "I say twenty."

"Is that a bet?"

"Yup, one hundred in cash."

Jack smirks, a jagged gash on his face. "You're on."

* * *

><p>On May sixth, the day of the Assemblea, Stella Morta is in lockdown. Clubs close early, restaurants shut at five, shopping centres don't even open, and people hurry along the streets with heads bowed and skirting around alleys.<p>

Gang politics is hard to understand for most _normal_ people. The values they hold and the morals they abide by are not the same as the rest of their civilian counterparts. But then again, ethics are different in each person, obligations overshadowed by circumstances, because what the hell is 'THIEVES WILL BE PERSECUTED' when your stomach hasn't been filled in days?

Central Stella Morta, in an area that's only a few buildings big, is a neutral zone for all gangs. And that's where the biennial inter-gang meetings take place, called the Assemblea. It's one of the most important events, where leaders from all over the city gather in one room and, surprisingly, manage to refrain from killing each other for four hours.

The building used to be the city's performing centre, now jokingly called Heaven's Gate by the citizens, a world of ballets and operas and musicals. Ten years ago, it shut down due to a bombing incident that was blamed on Ange Noir, but who claimed otherwise. The bombing killed three dancers in the middle of the ending scene for The Nutcracker, paralysed an audience member, and injured everyone else. On that day, the Stella Morta police department openly declared war on street gangs. And the street gangs laughed in response, because what have the so-called heroes of the city done so far except chase red herrings and flounder like fish on land?

The tower clock chimes six o'clock, and the sky is clear and cloudless, screeching bats passing overhead and night falling like a veil on unfocused eyes. All through the day, dark figures had been gathering at Heaven's Gates, in twos and threes, or in groups as huge as ten. Now, with the signal starting, all is silent, and the citizens hurry home, because there's a gathering taking place, and it's out of their league, because no one wants to be out on the streets when all the Kings of Stella Morta assemble together.

But in Apartment Block Alpha, room 9B, Elsa Queen is just on the verge of a breakdown because her younger sister isn't home yet because she, like any other citizen of Stella Morta, is aware that May sixth is Assemblea day.

She clutches her phone, dread settling in a dirty pool in her stomach. She's texted Anna ten times, called her around thirty, and there's still no pickup.

The apartment seems even bigger without Anna, and Elsa wants to cry when the final chimes of six o'clock fades away, because that means that the streets will be overrun by gang members protecting the bosses inside Heaven's Gate. And for god's sake, they lived close to it, far too close.

The police, of course, had tried many times over the years to storm the Assemblea, but it had ended up with so many deaths on both sides that eventually they had stopped. The Assemblea continued, and the police nursed their wounded pride.

Elsa had been there, one time. It was just after she and Anna had moved into their apartment, and she was unaware of the importance of May sixth. She had almost walked into the middle of a gunfight before a police officer had shoved her inside a building and held her there, pressed to the ground, hearts beating in a wild fugue, for the bloodbath to finish. And when she walked out, holding onto the police officer for dear life, the scene was something she wished to erase from her mind, because every time she closes her eyes, she just sees serrated flesh and dead bodies and the coppery tang of blood.

"_Hey! You've reached my, er, Anna's Queen's, voicemail, so like, just leave a message after the beep!"_

Elsa just barely manages to stop herself from throwing her phone at the wall. Instead, she pushes her face into a pillow and screams.

Tears prick her eyes like tiny needle points, and Elsa forcefully rubs them away.

"_This is Rapunzel's voicemail so just say your shit or call me back later."_

Elsa's sobs sound small, even to her. Because she misses Rapunzel so, so, much, and there's a part of her that's angry about how Rapunzel lied, but another part that sort of understands, and yet another part that just wishes Rapunzel was here with her now.

"Fuck you, Rapunzel," Elsa whispers through her tears, and she presses fingers made of glass to her eyes, and relishes into the sparks of galaxies that appear once she does.

She isn't really sure how she feels about Rapunzel being a Red Crown. There's no time to feel, no time to think, in a city like Stella Morta. Elsa has no reason to hate gangs, but she has no reason to like them either. For her, gangs are a part of this city, integrated into its culture since its founding. She's lived her life perfectly fine without them, and she would rather keep it that way.

But Rapunzel has changed everything, and Anna spends more and more time out on the streets, and Elsa doesn't know how to control her life that is spiralling out of control.

Not for the first time, Elsa feels the absence of her parents gnawing a hole in her mind, because her parents would know what to do. Her parents would be able to explain to her that things like this is just a part of life, and that Elsa should accept them and continue on her way to doing whatever she wants.

But her parents aren't here, and Elsa is left alone with black thoughts and silence (and me).

* * *

><p>In all of Jack's experience with the Assemblea, never has he remembered it to be so tense. And that's saying a lot.<p>

The Kings sit like the Knights of the Round Table, an ironic comparison, because they are all anything but knightly. Perhaps twenty figures, both male and female, are seated at an equal distance from each other on a table that's damaged and chipped with the marks of fingernails and knives. It's even, worn down by the constant rubbing against it over the years. Behind these figureheads of Stella Morta's organized crime, shadowy guards flank them, pressed to the wall, but tense and still and alert, with fingers poised on guns and hooked onto daggers.

The head of the Red Crowns sits closest to the entrance. His huge, hulking figure creates a silhouette of steel and jaw-clenched fury. Nicholas St. North towers over all his fellow Kings, an immobile rock of power and strength. At his shoulder is his second-in-command, Toothiana, standing like a toy soldier, stiff and alert. And finally, pacing the shadows along with others of his rank, Red Crown's third-in-command, Jack Frost, stalks like a lion with blood in his eyes and a smirk wrapped around a lit cigarette.

The Assemblea is in chaos, every King or Queen aggravating one another as is customary at each meeting, but this time, there is an undercurrent of hatred underneath, because all the gangs have suffered a bad year. Police have amped up on their promise to rid the city of all crime, and everyone was feeling its effects.

"Silence!" North roars. His voice, like a shockwave, settles the leaders, and they glare at one another before turning to face him. "What I would like to know," North continues on, voice rumbling like far-off thunder, "is, first of all, which one of you cowards tipped off the police on my head of drug trade."

"Don't be ridiculous, Red King," Scar hisses. The man leans forward, darkness throwing the mutilations on his face into a terrible light; they run, crisscrossing like pink rivers. "You know that none of us would ever go that far."

_Because you are the strongest out of us all_ goes unspoken in the room, settling onto their spines like heavy cloaks.

"It was probably undercover police," Zeus says. The Iron King sits opposite North, and the two men stare at one another before Zeus looks away and continues. "They found one of my warehouses a few weeks ago that way."

"Well, the focus of this Assemblea is to find a way to dog the cops," Facilier cuts in. The leader of Ange Noir looks decidedly bored, playing with his cigar, but his eyes have death carved into them. "Not that it'll succeed. What makes you think any of us are going to work together? We want dead half the people in this room as it is."

Jack only half listens to the meeting; his job is to keep an eye on the other guards and protect his King. Understanding gang politics, while it is important that he has at least a basic knowledge of it, is not part of his job.

As he scans the room, his gaze falls upon a girl who stands behind Facilier. She is annoyingly familiar, and he struggles to remember where she is from. Strawberry-blonde hair frames her face elegantly, falling in waves down her back. Freckles sprinkle her cheeks, and her eyes are a light, clear green.

Usually, Jack is up to date with all the positions of rival gangs and who fills them. This girl must be new to the position of third-in-command, though, and it's rare for Jack to find out so late.

She stands poised, elegant and proud. There is a certain coldness to her face that belies her initial friendly demeanour, and the way she manages to stand still for so long suggests a patient strength that Jack hardly ever sees. In his mind, he marks her as dangerous, because she is an unknown, and unknowns are always dangerous.

"The Summer Witch, Anna, no last name," Toothiana murmurs from the corners of her lips; it's lost in the many other whispers of conversation around the room. "She was promoted to the position of third only a few months ago."

"Third-in-command in Ange Noir?" Jack mutters back in disbelief. "How old is she?"

"Eighteen or so?" Toothiana shrugs. "We don't know much about her, just that she has an older sister named Elsa, but Elsa's a civilian."

A sudden giggle stops their conversation, prompting heads to turn to a figure half-shrouded in darkness. North's lips curl immediately, and he says in a long-suffering voice, "What do you want to say, Pitch? Spit it out now or shut up."

(Pitch Black.

Ah, now he's a strange one. Possibly the strangest human being I've ever met.

Let me start at a certain point. Are you still listening?

His name isn't really Pitch Black. Of course, what kind of parents would name their child so morbidly? That's his title, his metaphorical crown placed upon his head by the followers, along with the label of the Nightmare King.

Pitch Black embraces loneliness and fear in a way I've rarely encountered before. Sometimes, I get ones like him. Those who love me, those who truly, truly love the darkness.

But I've never met one who loves it like him.

Remember before, when I said that darkness is alive? I said it's alive because of people like him. He _thrives_ in darkness, lives off the fear of his victims. He is called the Nightmare King because, like many other gang members, he is a torturer, but his method of torturing is far more insane than anything else I've come across. He's a manipulator, sneaks into your mind and finds out your fears and then eats them for breakfast, cackling over you as you drain away beneath him.

You might even say he is a human version of me.

But I disagree, because you haven't even seen my true power. Pitch Black has nothing on me, but uses my strength and converts it into his own. He's a parasite, of sorts. A slimy little leech who believes that he is the most terrifying thing this city has ever seen.

He's a child, and I hate him, just like humans hate me, and I hate you.)

"You're all fools," Pitch sneers. His angular face looms out, a shark nosing the surface of the water. "Enemies sit amongst you all, but you're too blind to see it. Fools, all of you."

Jack rests his hand on his gun when Pitch stands up, and around him, he sees the other guards do the same. Toothiana shifts slightly, fingers on her own weapon, amethyst eyes narrowed.

Pitch is widely considered to be insane amongst the gossipmongers of gangs, spread by people like Hermes (the little shit). It's always a risk, inviting him to the Assemblea, because one day, if he decides he wouldn't mind dying, he could open fire on all the Kings at will and laugh as the life bleeds from his veins.

But Pitch only sweeps to the entrance and says, "My time here is wasted. I'll be leaving early, if that's fine with you, O Mighty Red King?"

And, still sniggering, Pitch disappears in a swirl of black.

Not five minutes pass when there is a loud crack, and then the roof above them caves in.

* * *

><p>At eight o'clock in the evening, Anna still hasn't returned home, and Elsa is about to cry all over again, because she doesn't even know where Anna <em>might<em> be.

At two minutes past eight, her phone rings. Elsa pounces on it, barely registering that it's from an unknown number.

"Anna?" Elsa shouts into her phone.

_"Are you the medic?"_ a voice yells at her on the other line. _"Are you the medic who's friends with Rapunzel? The one who helped me the other night? Listen, I need your help–"_

Elsa hangs up and stares at her phone. It rings again.

_"Goddammit, don't hang up! I have your sister with me and she's hurt and just fucking come down to the building opposite Heaven's Gate–"_

The phone dies, and Elsa just manages to wobble onto her feet before she takes her medical kit and sprints out.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

thank you for all your support so far :)

updated: 5 March 2014


	6. Deal

i'm sorry this took so long ;A;

**rating:** t for swearing.

**warning:** russian swear words lol.

**notes:** _johntitor_ has stated in reference to chapter 1, that if you _do _get raped or someone comes to you directly after a rape, _**do not take a shower**_ and go straight to police, because then they can use the evidence on your body. thank you for that.

and just. woooooooooooow. how on earth did i manage to pass 100 reviews after just five chapters? BECAUSE OF _YOU GUYS_ OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!

**cameos:** belle, main character from _beauty and the beast_.

**chapter six:** deal

* * *

><p>Humans cry a lot. I make them cry a lot. Death makes them cry a lot too. So does Sadness. And Happiness. And surprise and nervousness and every one of the millions of emotions that humans feel.<p>

Why do they cry? They obstruct their vision with saline liquid, preventing them from seeing the world. It's quite a useless talent, if you ask me. I've watched humans cry for as long as I've been around. Not once have I seen the point of it.

But I suppose you must be human to understand tears. You must be human to understand emotions.

I'm not human. I'm just Loneliness. I'm just your Narrator. I'm just telling a Story.

* * *

><p>"Motherfuckers!" North roars through a bloody nose. "<em>Dolbo yeb<em>! _Svoloch'_! You dirty cowards!"

"Shut the fuck up, North!" Toothiana screams as gunshots are fired, and a bullet explodes a glass chandelier. "Just _move_!"

The roof has caved in, and Jack doesn't know what happened, except that suddenly there's a gunfight and there's blood and there's chaos, and he's vaguely aware of the wound on his arm opening up again as he's slammed to the ground, and he actually _feels _at least two ribs crack when a pile of bricks slam onto his chest.

He chokes, gasping for air, and Toothiana is pulling him up, every muscle shrieking its protest. Black spots dances across his vision, and he can feel wetness spreading across his shirt.

Most of the third-in-commands had panicked, more so when nobody knows what is going on, and it's dark, and there are enemies all around. Facilier, the Witch King, is roaring something foul, and Scar is howling in pain as his Hyenas pry a beam off his leg.

Jack spots Anna sprinting across wreckage, second-in-command Hans gripped in vice fingers. And then it clicks, and as he's pulling Toothiana and North out and across the street, where dark figures run amok in confusion, he's dialing a number that Rapunzel had given him, _just in case_, fingers slippery with blood.

He's silently thanking her now, as a familiar voice picks up the phone.

Several different possibilities had run through his head, but as soon as the girl–Elsa, was it?–had said her sister's name, he knows exactly which option to pick.

_When it comes to civilians, always use their loved ones against them, _North had once said, _because they're too softhearted for their own good._

And he does exactly that.

* * *

><p>The first thing Elsa sees when she enters the building opposite Heaven's Gate is a blood trail.<p>

And then the next thing she sees is a woman with purple eyes crouched in the corner over a man whose white tuft of hair is disturbingly familiar.

But the one thing she doesn't see is her sister, and she's staring at them, trying to keep the tears of panic from falling, trying to make sense of this situation.

"Elsa," the woman says, hurrying forwards and pulling her over.

"You," Elsa gapes, staring at the man, who raises his head weakly. "You–I remember you–broke into my apartment–what–?"

"We have you sister," the man croaks, "so if you do me a favour and help me one more time, and I'll let her go."

* * *

><p>Jack hopes Elsa won't call his bluff. He's really, really, <em>really<em> hoping she doesn't call his bluff. Because he has no idea where Anna is, and he really doesn't care. All he needs is a medic to check over his ribs, and seeing as gang members probably aren't welcome at hospital and their last medic had been killed two weeks ago, Elsa is the best way to go.

It takes around fifteen minutes to settle Elsa, because she's cautious and trapped, demanding where her sister is being held, asking if her sister's alright, and Jack sees Toothiana slowly figuring out that Elsa has no idea of Anna's involvement with Ange Noir, and she's debating with herself whether she should tell her or not.

Another wave of pain causes a groan of nausea to spill from his lips.

"Listen," Toothiana finally hisses, purple eyes flashing. "Either you help with the Spirit, or we send you on your way and little Anna will be brought back to you black and blue and possibly missing a few teeth, because that's my specialty. I am the Tooth Fairy; I'm sure you've heard of me."

And Elsa isn't stupid, so she drops her medical kit and makes her way over to Jack, while Toothiana hovers by his side. The woman had gotten away from the mess with only a few scratches, and she sent North back to Headquarters with Hook Hand for safety.

If Jack had been a little less in pain, he would have made some stupid joke about how often Elsa comes to his rescue. But unfortunately, he's in a lot of pain, and when Elsa gently nudges his ribs, checking the damage, he just relaxes and passes out into a blissful world of black.

* * *

><p>"He needs a hospital. He needs an x-ray scan and he needs a proper doctor," Elsa says urgently to Toothiana.<p>

"Are you crazy?" Toothiana snaps. "We can't just waltz in like any normal person. We're criminals."

Desperately, Elsa says, "I can get you in. I have a friend. Please."

(You might think that Stella Morta hospitals would be free from all the taint that surrounds it. That's not so. Hospitals are just as corrupted as the government, just as in need of money as every other starving skeleton out there.)

With the help of Elsa's doctor friend, Belle, they manage to sneak Jack in, and it's almost too easy. Toothiana is forced to stay outside in the waiting area, and she's completely on edge, eyes flickering this way and that, anyone who looks at her twice gets a cold glare that sends them hurrying on their way.

And after too long, Elsa and Belle finally come out, with a limping Jack between them. Belle, with her mahogany hair frazzled and falling in wisps out of her bun, is said to be a genius, graduating from university with her medical degree three years early, if that's even possible.

"He can't stay here," Belle says quietly, as Toothiana takes Jack's weight. The man is dazed from painkillers, blinking slowly when Toothiana lifts his shirt to reveal clean white bandages. "I've given Elsa some painkillers that'll last him for a while, so just keep him out of action, and his ribs should heal in a few weeks."

"Thank you," Elsa says breathlessly. "I owe you."

And Belle simply smiles tightly at her and says, "Just stay out of trouble, Elsa."

* * *

><p>As the three sit in a cab driven by one of their own people, with Jack wedged between them in the back seat, Toothiana glances at Elsa, who's pressed herself against the car door, as if she might be able to meld herself into it. The girl is shy, solitary, but Toothiana can see a strength in her that's driven by her love for her sister. It's a strength that the Red Crowns can use, and her abilities as a basic medic can come in useful.<p>

"So where's my sister?" Elsa asks, and her voice breaks the silence like ice. "I've done exactly what you've wanted, so where is she?"

"Don't know," Toothiana shrugs.

Elsa whips her head towards her, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

"We don't actually have you sister," Toothiana says carelessly, and she gently pushes a sleeping Jack's head upwards again, so that he doesn't strain his neck. "Jack was bluffing."

"So–my sister is fine?" Elsa whispers. Her face is chalky white, lips bloodless.

"More or less," Toothiana says. She opts not to mention that Anna is part of Ange Noir. Not just yet. She clears her throat. "I have a proposition for you."

But Elsa isn't quite listening. Her head is reeling, and she's mentally punching herself for being so _stupid _as to believe what the man had said on the phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now she's stuck in a moving cab going to who knows where, with some of the most influential people of Stella Morta's underworld.

And like, fuck, she's screwed.

"Elsa," Toothiana says sharply, "listen to me."

Jerking, Elsa stares at Toothiana like a nervous animal, but she nods once.

"So we've done a basic background check on you," Toothiana says bluntly. "Rapunzel's been keeping tabs on you, ever since we found out you were a medical student. The Red Lily is one of our fronts, and we hired you even though you weren't a member of the Red Crowns, because we believed that your knowledge in medicine would be helpful if we ever needed a medic in an emergency."

"I'm only a medical student–" Elsa says lamely.

"But you have connections," Toothiana says. "Like tonight, with Belle and Jack. So we're offering you to be our emergency medic, and use your network to get our members into hospitals if ever the occasion arises."

Elsa heaves a breath, and she's staring at Toothiana with a mixture of shock and confusion on her face. "What makes you think I'll help you?" she asks finally.

"Money," Toothiana says with a wry smile. "We're aware of your financial situation. You probably don't know this, but hospitals are the one place where gangs, as an unspoken rule, have never tried to get under our control. Hospitals are a neutral zone, but a corrupt government handles them. If you, Elsa Queen, can let us use its resources for our members, we are willing to pay. We are the strongest gang in Stella Morta. Money is not an issue when it comes to things like this."

A part of Elsa is violently refusing the Tooth Fairy's deal. It's crazy, it's suicidal, and it's completely and utterly insane. Elsa has never broken any laws before; she's never had to do anything illegal to get money. And what if the Tooth Fairy breaks her word? There's no contract to sign, nothing legitimate so that if the Tooth Fairy doesn't give payment when it's due, Elsa has no way of legally getting it.

But another part of her is considering it, because she desperately _needs_ the money. Working three jobs hasn't given her enough time to study, and when she's constantly worrying about how she's going to get the next meal on the table, her grades have dropped, and she's struggling to pay the fees.

One day, she's going to crack, and she can't afford to crack. Not now. Not ever.

"We'll give you three days to think about it," Toothiana says, and the car slows to a stop. With numb surprise, Elsa realises that they are outside her apartment, and she gets out, about as fast as a zombie, and watches as the cab turns around the corner and disappears.

And she almost collapses right then and there on the footpath, because she has no idea what's just happened, and her life has turned upside down, and she really, really, really needs to talk to Anna.

* * *

><p>When Elsa opens the door ten minutes later, knees weak from fatigue, she sees Anna sitting in the middle of the living room with a pile of bandages around her and blood leaking from her right temple. Her clothes are soiled, and when Anna raises her eyes to meet with Elsa's horrified ones, she smiles gently, and the smile looks so painful that Elsa is rushing forwards immediately and cradling her sister as Anna leans onto her shoulder.<p>

"Okay, it's okay," Elsa whispers. "Anna, just lie down here, okay? Just lie down and stay still. I'll be right back."

She runs to the kitchen and washes her hands before pulling on some latex gloves. When she returns, Anna has closed her eyes, and she's gripping the hem of her shirt, knuckles pale.

"This will hurt, but just bear with it," Elsa murmurs, and she presses gauze against the injury.

"Relax, Elsa," Anna breathes, eyes still closed. "It's not deep, just a scratch. It should stop bleeding after a bit. Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying," Elsa says, as tears drip from her face. "I just–_seriously_, Anna. What happened?"

"I tripped and fell," Anna says.

Elsa almost whacks her sister for her stupid lie, but refrains herself.

"I got a call," Elsa says, and she's trying to keep her voice even, but it just keeps _cracking_. "From the Red Crowns. They said they had you. I had to help them; it was the same boy from a few nights ago. He was hurt–something dumb like my connections or something–I just–don't know what to do–they offered me money–"

"Wait, _what_?" Anna gapes, eyes flying open. She tries to sit up, but Elsa pushes her back down. "They offered you money?"

"To use my connections to give them access to hospitals," Elsa nods. "Which is just plain stupid because the only connection I have is to Belle, you know, the genius doctor? And she's still pretty unwilling to do much to help."

"_No_," Anna says firmly, "no way. Do not accept the deal, you understand? It's a bad idea."

"But we need the money," Elsa says quietly. She locks eyes with her younger sister. "We need the money, really. I can't pay my university fees, and rent money is starting to slip back. I can't handle it by myself, Anna."

And Anna is on the verge of crying, and Elsa mistakes this for pain. She gently brushes Anna's hair out of her face, and adjusts the pressure on the wound.

"It's stopped bleeding," Elsa says after conversation has faded into nothing. She peers into Anna's eyes and checks her pupils, makes sure she isn't feeling dizzy, asking basic questions in case Anna has a concussion.

"Really, Elsa, I'm fine," Anna says, and she squeezes her sister's hands once.

Both of them don't sleep that night, just huddling together in front of the television, watching late night shows and drinking hot chocolate because hot chocolate heals a little of the scars and it's a sort of warmth that can be mistaken for love.

Anna in particular just stares blankly at her mug, because she doesn't know what to do.

The only reason Anna joined Ange Noir was _because _of the money. Spending her teenage years in Stella Morta, she's heard whispers.

_You get rich if you join a gang,_ they say. _You don't even need to find a job, just get initiated into a gang. The more powerful, the better._

So at fifteen, she seeks out a member of Ange Noir and, without hesitation, asks to join. And three years later, she's promoted to third-in-command because she had saved Facilier's life one time, pulling him out of the way from a sniper as the bullet explodes into the wall. It had truly been an accident, beginner's luck, but she had impressed Facilier, and her position changed.

She's earning money now, more than she's ever hoped for. And she's been planning on telling Elsa for a long time, but had never really found the right words. Elsa had always been working, or staying out late, and Anna, alone in their apartment, had drowned in feelings of bitterness. Because Elsa is free, and Anna is insanely jealous of that. Anna has done things that she hopes her sister will never know of, has the burden of staying alive on her shoulders.

People will kill for such a high-ranked position, and Anna trusts no one in her gang, not even Hans. Hans, who's always trying to tell her to leave gang life, that she can do something better with her skills. She dates him because she needs to keep an eye on him; she dates him because he is an anomaly, and there's something different about him that Anna needs to figure out.

(You have no idea how much Anna regrets it now. She regrets everything, I know. Sometimes, she curls up in her room and she cries, because that's what humans do when they're afraid.

Anna doesn't know if she's made the right choice; she had done what she thought was best. She had been desperate to help her sister, but she hadn't counted on how long it would take to climb ranks and earn enough money to truly make a difference to their miserable lives.

And with Elsa gone most of the time, Anna had been craving some sort of companionship, somewhere she would belong. She had been terribly lonely, always watching Elsa's back as her older sister disappears out the doorway, and sometimes it felt as if Elsa was disappearing forever.

You must understand, no matter how illogical this may seem, she was only fifteen.)

A sigh peels out, and Anna rests her head on Elsa's shoulder. And to her delight, Elsa doesn't wriggle away, but seeks out of her hand under the blanket and clasps it tight.

Anna wants to cry now, but for an entirely different reason.

* * *

><p>"You–what?" Jack says blankly.<p>

Toothiana rolls her eyes. "I _said_," she repeats impatiently, "that I invited the kid to be our medic."

"Elsa?" Jack says.

"_Yes_, you dumbfuck," Bunnymund groans. "She's said it five times already."

"But–why? What makes you think she's even going to say yes?" Jack says. "And you told her my _name_?"

"Yes, I did, and yes, she will," Toothiana says confidently. "I know she will. People like her are predictable."

"North say it was okay?"

"He's approved of it," Toothiana nods. "Says it's a good idea."

Bunnymund sighs and rolls onto his feet. The Crimson Rose is closed tonight, so the silence is slightly unnerving, when they are so used to having their conversations punctured by heavy bass and loud music.

"Moreover," Bunnymund says darkly, "what happened tonight at the Assemblea. That was Pitch's doing for sure."

"All the other gangs agree," Jack says, and winces when he tries to sit up. "I got into contact with Merida from Ange Noir, a Hyena from the Pride, and a couple of other associates, and they're all pressed pissed at him."

"The lunatic," Toothiana hisses. "We lost three men in that roof collapse. He's going to _pay_."

* * *

><p>Text message from: the Red King<p>

We will take Pitch Black's territory  
>from him. Battle stations. Details<br>to come.

* * *

><p>Pitch has only a small territory in the middle of Stella Morta, but in a way, it's the most powerful piece of land in the city. Central Stella Morta holds two casinos whose income is worth the same as the Red Crown's and Ange Noir's entire territory.<p>

* * *

><p>Text message from: the Witch King<p>

We will take Pitch Black's territory  
>from him. Get ready for more<br>details to come.

* * *

><p>And whichever of the two gangs manage to seize it will become the strongest gang in Stella Morta.<p>

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

this was a terrible chapter and i'm really sorry.

so, here is anna's side of the story. elsa is jealous of anna because she thinks anna is free. and anna is jealous of elsa because she thinks elsa is free. but their definition of freedom is very, very different to each other's. how ironic, huh? in this way, anna and jack are quite similar to each other, in that they joined gangs because they thought it would help their respective siblings.

usually i don't reply to anonymous reviews via a/n, because i hate taking up space here because it annoys the fuck out of me (like u know those a/n that are just this huge 2 metre block of bold text that is all just replies to reviews?). however, i will make a special exception this one time, and therefore annoy the fuck out of myself lol.

to anonymous reviewer **intrigue**: NO WAIT, I DO HAVE A TUMBLR! (if anyone else cares; it's an exo blog though and it's boring) it's: **baozisareexolicious**. this is really weird because i've found a few of my jelsa readers on tumblr too lol. and thank you so much for your kind words ^3^ lemme hug you! /cannot believe you reread my fanfics omg/ i'm not actually as brilliant as you make me out to be; i just have a lot of time on my hands and 24239563 years of fanfic writing practice hehehe.

also, to anon reviewer **kkaebsong.** r u exo fan? :3

updated: 23 march 2014


	7. Take Control

this was supposed to go up a week ago and then my internet decided to die on me. i haven't written anything in months, so i'm sorry for the quality of this. i feel like it's a little different from the other chapters?

**rating:** t for swearing

**warning:** none.

**notes:** apologies for late chapter and crap writing.

**cameos:** shang and mentions of mulan from _mulan_ (both will become permanent member of cast), eric from _the little mermaid_; mentions of the olympians from _hercules_.

okay, so i've got to make this very clear, because a lot of people have been confused about this. jack _did not _rape elsa. jack **did not **rape elsa. jack _**did not **_rape elsa. the psychological trauma of falling in love with your rapist is not something i wish to explore in this story. rape is very serious, and it's consequences will not be taken lightly here.

**chapter seven:** take control

* * *

><p>Lies are heavy things. Truths are exhausting. How humans are even able cope is beyond me.<p>

A lie needs commitment, and the truth is burning. What do you do when faced with a fork in the road, and one path leads to ignorance, and the other to pain?

As Loneliness, it is my job to tell nothing but the truth. I am the barest reflection of the human soul, the simplest form of negative emotion. That is why I am both the lightest and heaviest thing known to man, shown off or closed away, I am here.

As I watch these two sisters, it seems as if their whole relationship is nothing but lies. The only thing I know for sure is that these two love each other, and that all these falsities are a result of trying to protect the other.

Love. She's such an ugly thing.

Silly, silly humans.

* * *

><p>Three days pass quietly, and the city is still reeling from the tremor of the Assemblea. Stella Morta's various gangs have settled down, skulking with their tails between their legs. There's a war coming, and shackles are raised like nervous dogs.<p>

Elsa misses two days of work, only going to her job at the local bakery and another as a cashier in a small supermarket, but their savings are slipping low, and she resigns herself to a night shift at The Red Lily. She'd been looking for a different job, but no other place would pay as much as The Red Lily pays her.

As soon as she walks through the swinging glass doors, Shang is at her side in an instant, and the looming Chinese man places one callused, but still gentle, hand on her shoulder and asks her if she's alright.

"Yeah," Elsa says, and she feels a lump in her throat spring up, unbidden. The relief at seeing a familiar face is almost overwhelming, no matter how shocking his true identity, and Shang gives her a brief smile and draws her into a one-armed hug.

"Your answer?" Shang says finally when Elsa manages to force down her tears. She takes a breath, and Shang's brows furrow.

"I–" Elsa says softly, but she finds she can't really continue.

"You know," Shang says, cutting her off, "you don't have to say yes. We won't do anything to you. Gang life… isn't for everyone."

And then, as Elsa looks into Shang's eyes, she sees a sort of unbearable weight on his shoulders, a darkness inside of him that hovers beside his mind. Suddenly, Shang looks _old_, older than twenty-eight, older than she's ever seem him look before. His wrinkles, usually faint and unnoticeable, line his face like deep crevasses, cutting through his skin in rivers.

He cares, Elsa realises. He cares about her enough to warn her. The fact is enough to make Elsa start crying all over again, but she doesn't. Instead, she squares her shoulders and says a strong, definite, "Yes. I'll join the Red Crowns as their emergency medic, provided that I am given my payment."

Elsa isn't sure, but something flickers across Shang's face for a second, before he draws away and nods.

"We're opening for dinner in ten minutes," Shang orders, voice back to normal, and heads back into the kitchen, pulling out his phone as he goes, "get the tables ready, bring out the glassware. We have three reservations tonight: a table for two and a table for five at six o'clock, and a banquet for twenty-three at seven o'clock. Get them ready."

"Got it," Elsa says quickly, and shoves her bag under the counter just as two other waiters arrive for their shift.

* * *

><p>"You said no, right?" Anna says later that night, at around two in the morning. Elsa is staring at her laptop screen, trying to finish off the last half of her assignment before it's due in four days. There are books and loose sheets of paper scattered around her in a small, messy circle, and highlighters and broken pens half hidden beneath.<p>

"Um, what?" Elsa says absent-mindedly, typing out another few sentences. Then, she groans and deletes the whole paragraph, and frantically looks around for the draft that she'd written up a week before.

"Red Crowns," Anna presses. "You told them you weren't doing it."

"Yeah, yeah, I told them no," Elsa says distractedly, locating her draft and glancing over its contents.

Anna hisses and snatches the paper out of Elsa's hands.

"Hey!"

"Elsa," Anna says angrily, "listen. This is important! It's not a game."

"I _know_," Elsa snaps, and she runs a hand down her face. Her shoulders slump. Anna hadn't noticed how tired she looked until now. "Seriously, Anna, I told them no, alright? But I have to get this finished because it's worth nearly half my grade, and I don't know if I'll get it done in time, and my references are just ridiculous, and I have to go to work tomorrow and I have a double shift and I just–"

"Okay," Anna interrupts. She sighs quietly. "Take the day off tomorrow, Elsa, and finish off your assignment."

"I have work and we need money–"

"I took on a part-time job," Anna blurts out awkwardly. She fiddles with her fingers, peeks at her sister through lowered lashes. "You need the help, and I haven't pulled my weight around here; it's not fair for you."

Gaping, Elsa takes a few moments to recover. "A job? Where?"

"Um, it's just at a diner," Anna says, shrugging and flashing her a strained smile. "I'm a cashier. It's called Mal's Diner."

The diner is, in fact, one of Ange Noir's fronts for cocaine trade. Elsa doesn't need to know that.

"Okay," Elsa says blankly. "When are your shifts?"

"It's just a few weeknights, from four till seven," Anna says hastily. "Because, you know, I still have school. But I'll be fine."

"And how will you be getting home?" Elsa asks.

"Bus," Anna says promptly. "There are still heaps of people out at that time, so it'll be okay."

"Things still happen with people around you," Elsa says softly. She looks at up Anna, straight in the eye. "You won't be taking any shortcuts, understand? No going through dark alleys or empty buildings, no matter how late you're running or how quickly you want to get home. Always stay where people are."

"Okay," Anna says, a little taken aback by her sister's solemnity.

"And if any strange men start following you, just go into a shop or try to lose them in a crowd," Elsa says. "And if you get caught, just kick them in the balls, because that's their weak spot. And use your elbow to break their nose or something, because you can generate a lot of force behind it."

"I got it," Anna says gently. She smiles. "I'll be alright, Elsa."

Elsa exhales and massages her temples. "Just call me as soon as you get back."

"Okay."

"Now please give me my draft, because I really have to finish this."

Anna gazes at Elsa for a few more minutes, and she tries to hide the swell of happiness she feels in her chest. She and Elsa haven't talked this much for a very long time, and it gives her some hope for the future. Maybe they can start to mend their distant relationship; it's something Anna has always wanted.

* * *

><p>The next time Elsa works at The Red Lily, Shang hands her an old flip phone and says, "Whenever you're needed, you'll be called on that. Don't ever turn it off or ignore it, otherwise the higher ups will be pissed at you. You've taken this job, now you've got to earn your keep."<p>

The phone stays silent for two weeks, and Elsa keeps going on with her life as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Anna is happy with her new job, and to Elsa's relief, brings home a good sum of money.

(Elsa doesn't know that instead of taking orders, Anna has been downstairs watching drugs packages being moved from one truck to another. Elsa doesn't know that instead of serving customers, Anna has been discussing contracts with local dealers and sending men after those who haven't paid their stocks yet. Elsa doesn't know anything, doesn't know that Anna has hands that have wielded guns and taken lives, and uses those same hands to hug Elsa goodnight and help braid her hair in the morning.)

* * *

><p>"This doesn't make sense, though," Jack says slowly, teeth clamped down on a cigarette. The nicotine sends a jolt down his spine. "Why would Pitch cause the roof collapse anyway? He knows he'll just make an enemy out of the hundreds of gangs of Stella Morta. It's a dick move, and also a stupid one."<p>

"Who knows what Pitch is thinking," Bunnymund grunts. "That psycho kills people for fun."

Jack blinks at Toothiana, who's bent over her phone, nibbling at her bottom lips. "Tooth, what's up?"

"The King…" Toothiana says slowly. "The King wants to wage war on Pitch."

"Yeah," Bunnymund says blankly.

"Do you think we'll have the man power though?" Toothiana asks. She folds her arms, eyes bright in the near darkness. "Remember the last time we tried to do this?"

"Don't remind me," Jack says darkly. "War of the Centre Territories. Lost like half our people. Fucking bloodbath, that one."

"Exactly," Toothiana says. "And that was only five years ago. We're not ready for this."

Her phone blips at the same time Jack's and Bunnymund's does.

"North," Jack says grimly.

"Oho," Bunnymund laughs, excitement bubbling in his eyes, and Toothiana's worries are forgotten in the new turn of events. Nothing like this has happened in a long time, and he's been getting restless. He taps on the message and cackles. "Guerilla warfare, eh? My favourite."

"Send in the small fry," Toothiana says, running her tongue over the bottom of her dark purple lips. "We need to test the waters, and if they're caught they won't be able to spill much."

Perhaps it's a little chilling, the way Toothiana talks. She's grown up in a harsh world, and to her, life is very easily replaced. Even her own.

"We'll target Pitch's warehouse in the East end," Toothiana says. An old light flares up in her as she talks, a lifeless smile stretching her lips. "He's keeping all their old weapons there. It won't be much of a loss for them, but it'll be enough."

She wrinkles her nose when Jack blows out a smoke ring, and it blurs the edges of the room, softening the words that slit the air like knives.

"I'll relay the info," Bunnymund says, getting to his feet and cracking his neck. "Someone's gotta supervise those little fucks, after all."

"Yeah, well, I'll be heading back," Jack says, yawning widely.

"It's only eight," Bunnymund snickers. "Go check out our clubs, make sure the owners aren't doing deals under the table."

"Shut it, Bunny," Jack says calmly. "You can go fuck yourself."

Toothiana just rolls her eyes and hits them both on the backs of their heads.

* * *

><p>Jack ends up wandering around Stella Morta, and he finds himself in front of The Red Lily, the restaurant that's a front for their gun trade. The cold bleeds into his skin, weaving through the fibres of his thin trench coat, and the hairs on the back of his neck raise as a gust blows through the empty streets. The lights of the restaurant are welcoming, and when Jack enters, a rush of warm air greets him pleasantly.<p>

The Red Lily is busy tonight, with all the tables full and more patrons waiting in seats for their turn. Jack spots Eric the bartender looking frazzled as he tries to mix drinks for about ten different customers. He nods a greeting, and Eric barely manages a wave before he's back to work again.

"Sir," a waiter says blankly. Jack dimly remembers him to be a new recruit for the Red Crowns, only initiated two months ago. "Um, w-would you like a table?"

The waiter fiddles with his notepad nervously, and Jack takes pity on him. "No, no," Jack says, waving carelessly. "I'm just dropping by to visit an old friend."

Jack strides past the waiter and through the door to the kitchens. Shang, face glistening with perspiration and steam, effortlessly flips food in the wok, hands flying as he adds spices and sauce and salt and sugar.

"Shang," Jack says cheerily, leaning against the door to the freezer while three other chefs hurry around carrying vegetables and raw meat. He can barely be heard over the roar of the flames and the indistinct calls of Mandarin, and Shang doesn't even answer as he shakes food onto the plate, metal scraping against metal.

"What do you want, Jack," Shang shouts, his voice raised as something sizzles loudly in a clay pot. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

Cheekily, Jack plucks off a cube of honey chicken just as Shang was about to sprinkle sesame seed over it and shoves it in his mouth. "Yum. Make me some!"

"Fuck off, Jack," Shang grumbles, waving for the dish to be taken away. "Bother someone else."

"Just dropping by, wondering how our business is going," Jack says. He lowers his voice, and the blast of fire almost drowns out his next words. "The King is initiating guerilla warfare."

Shang pauses, muscles bulging under the sleeves of his chef's uniform. "Seriously? I would've thought we'd go for the big guns right at the start; make a statement to Pitch."

"I don't know what the King is thinking," Jack murmurs. "But Bunny is in charge of this one. Tell Mulan to be prepared anyway; she'll be leading the siege later on."

Shang jerks a nod, turning down the stove with practiced fingers. "You gotta give her something to do soon, though. Mulan is getting edgy; she's been out of action for months." He chuckles lowly, sharp eyes crinkling at the corners. "I swear she's going to find a pub brawl soon and just jump into that, and you know how much she hates petty fights."

Laughing, Jack draws away and says, "She'll get her turn soon. Meanwhile, make sure the customers get what they paid for, eh?"

(Make sure the traded guns are no less than perfection, give the customers no reason to complain.)

"Of course," Shang says lightly.

Just before Jack leaves the kitchens, he calls out, "So, how's our new medic faring?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself? She's on shift tonight."

"Really? Didn't see her," Jack says, interest sparking as a pot clatters to the ground.

"What?!"

"Nothing," Jack hums. He prances out the kitchen. "See you later!"

Shang almost throws a saucepan at Jack's head when he sees the man stealing a bowl of leftover fried rice on the way out.

* * *

><p>Behind the counter is a chair for the slower hours of the day, and Jack snags it, watching the mild chaos of the restaurant from his place in the corner. He keeps out of everyone's way, and he finally spots the new medic managing her tables on the other side of the restaurant.<p>

She's pretty, Jack thinks absent-mindedly. She's got the same white hair as him, and her eyes are wide and blue. There is a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead as she tries to cater to all the customers, and he watches as a mother dumps her wailing baby in the medic's arms in favour of calming down her other child.

But the new medic is efficient, Jack notes. She's got quick hands, and is light on her feet. She has good expressions, able to appear charming and courteous whilst tired and fretful on the inside.

"She's a nice addition to the Crowns," Jack says out loud to a passing waiter. The waiter ducks his head.

Jack stays till the medic's shift ends at nine-thirty. The rush of customers has dwindled, and the medic calls out her goodbyes when she heads over to the counter to grab her bag.

"Hi," Jack says, waving enthusiastically at her. The medic jumped, startled, and her impossibly huge eyes snap up to him.

"You," is all the medic says. She slowly takes her bag from under the counter, keeping her gaze locked on him.

"Me," Jack confirms. "You're… Ellie, right?"

"Elsa," the medic says, and then winces, clearly regretting her correction.

"Right, Elsa," Jack says, nodding along. He stands up, and he notes, with a small flash of happiness, that he towers over her at full height. He has a complex about being shorter than females. "Are you heading home?"

"No," Elsa says unwillingly.

"Yeah you are," Jack says automatically. He grins at her. "You're a terrible liar; we're going to have to fix that soon, otherwise some scumbag is gonna kidnap you and you'll spill all our secrets."

Elsa just splutters at him.

* * *

><p>Elsa doesn't bother hiding how uncomfortable she feels as Jack tails her all the way home. On the bus, he takes the seat behind her, and she can feel his eyes boring into the back of her head for the full twenty minutes.<p>

"Okay, what do you want?" Elsa snaps, a few streets away from her apartment. They halt in the middle of the pavement. Jack is getting increasingly antsy, but that's the least of Elsa's problems. "Stop following me!"

"Well, I'm here as a precaution," Jack says, smiling down at her. She hates his smile; it's bloody and fake and full of lies. "I'm… your bodyguard!"

"The other gangs don't know about me yet," Elsa huffs. "If they see you around me, they'll start digging."

Jack pauses, head cocked. "True," he says. "You're smart, Elsa."

"It's common sense," she bites out. "I don't want you here; go away."

"Aw," Jack pouts, "but you let me come in last time."

"Last time you forced your way in! And I didn't know you were following me!" Elsa retorts.

(I stand at Elsa's shoulder, breathe gently against her heart. She's very afraid, even willing to use the small knife she's stashed in her purse against this boy. It won't do much, I know, because the boy will be able to wrestle it from her grip in less than a second.)

"I thought you were a Red Crown," Jack says, waving his hand carelessly. "You were wearing a Red Lily shirt, and we only hire people that are part of the gang to work there." He grimaces. "No one thought to inform me about you, as it seems. That's why I thought you could help me. Imagine my shock when you just ran off. I was planning to chop off your hand the next time we meet."

Elsa is at a loss of what to say. Her fear intensifies, and she shudders knowing that Jack is very serious about his threat.

"I'm going to check our your place," Jack says, voice low in the night. It settles like poisoned chocolate between her ribs. "I was pretty out of it last time. I need to see your apartment's positioning and facilities, and also have a word with the landlord."

Elsa struggles to keep up with Jack's mood swings; one minute he's a child, the next he's serious and calm and _old_, like Shang, in a way only gang members are old.

When she unlocks her apartment door, Jack is glancing up and down her hallway, a hand slipping into his right pocket.

"Who lives on this floor?" Jack asks, following her inside.

"Just me and my sister," Elsa says, hanging up her coat and setting her bag on the table. "The floor below us has a couple and a single man. I'm not sure about the other levels, and level one is just the reception area."

"Right," says Jack. "How often does your landlord come around?"

Nervous and unsure of how to act, Elsa says, "On the third of every month. Other than that, he doesn't visit. He's just here for the rent money. Our receptionist changes a lot of the time; mostly university students."

The apartment is empty, and when Elsa switches on the light, she sees evidence that Anna's been home earlier, only to have left again.

"My sister should be back in around three hours," Elsa tells Jack, wringing her hands together. Jack is suddenly a lot taller and more imposing in the cramped space of the apartment, and he observes everything with a sharp, meticulous gaze, his lips set in a thin line.

Jack doesn't answer her, just disappears into the bedrooms and the bathroom. Elsa can hear him clattering around, opening up the drawers and the closets, and she prays that Anna has nothing dangerous in her room.

When Jack heads back to the living room and peers out the filthy window, Elsa spots a lump where his back pocket should be, and she can see the faint outline of a handgun. Jack absent-mindedly fiddles with a knife in his left hand, throwing it up and down as he walks; every couple of paces, he switches to his right hand.

Ambidextrous, Elsa realises. Comfortable around weapons.

"Your apartment is pretty good," Jack notes. "But we're in the middle of Ange Noire territory, which sucks."

Oh, Elsa thinks, that's why he was so edgy on the way here.

Jack pauses, chewing on the bottom of his lip. "You know, your sister," Jack begins.

Elsa stiffens. "What about her?" she asks icily. "We're not dragging her into this. No way."

Sighing, Jack just shakes his head and walks to the door. Just before he leaves, Elsa thinks she hears him mutter, "Maybe she already is."

* * *

><p>[police station, under the control of the olympians]<p>

With hard wood digging into her back and tiny wrists bound in cold metal, Rapunzel lets out a huge, noisy sigh and turns over to her side. Now her hipbone is jutting into the bench and her mood worsens dramatically.

Rapunzel feigns sleep, listening as the guard at her door shifts his weight, and the plastic of his seat squeaks.

He's fat and pudgy, Rapunzel thinks. It would be easy to just reach her slim arms between the bars and take the keys from his hip. He would never notice.

The problem is outside the holding cells, where an entire police station is bustling. Most of the cops are under the influence of the gang Olympians, who are no friend of the Red Crowns.

"You could just kick down the door," a voice suggests slyly on her right. Rapunzel ignores it in favour of burying her face into the smelly pillow.

"Shut it," the guard croaks, banging on the bars, "or your face is getting smashed in."

"Damn, I thought I was supposed to feel protected by the police, not threatened," the voice says snarkily. Rapunzel sighs and sits up, turning her attention to the owner.

The man in the holding cell next to her slouches against the bars, idly scratching marks into the floor with his fingernails. Brown hair flops into his eyes, green and shrewd under the fluorescent lights.

"Who are you?" Rapunzel asks shortly.

"Nobody," the man grins. He's carving out a crude picture of a dick. Rapunzel feels the horrible urge to laugh. "Just a petty thief. What about you, oh fair princess? What have you done to land yourself in such a situation?"

Snorting, Rapunzel crosses her arms and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "No idea. I haven't done anything. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

The man squints at her. "I have a feeling I've seen you before. Have we met?"

"Does that work on all the girls?" Rapunzel asks dryly.

His unwavering gaze is beginning is make her uncomfortable. And then recognition dawns. "Ah?" the man says. Then, he smiles eerily. "Ah."

"Not another word out of you both!" the guard snarls. He gets to his feet, double chins wobbling angrily at he spits, "I'm not above hitting women; shut the fuck up."

"Got a temper, this one," the man stage whispers.

Rapunzel narrows her eyes. "I think I know you," she says slowly.

"I definitely know you," the man replies. "You're a dog of the Red Crowns."

"And you're one of Ange Noire's little rats," Rapunzel sneers. "Flynn Rider, am I correct? The Heartbreaker. Fast mind and even faster fingers; you can break into anything."

"Wow," Flynn whistles, "there's a slogan right there. I'm honoured that you know who I am, considering your rank is far above the likes of me. Rapunzel, head of drug trade, the right hand lady of the right hand lady of the Red King."

"Last warning!" the guard shouts, finally fed up with the constant chatter. He stares at them both beadily, before glancing back to his game of Tetris on his phone.

Rapunzel turns away, but she catches slightly movement in the corner of her eye. Flynn raises an eyebrow, and mouths, _Want to get out of here together?_

(By the guard's side, I observe these events with a neutral eye. Before I leave, I look down at the guard, whose nervous sweat glistens at his neck, and I remind myself to follow up on these strange events that are unfurling. After all, it's rare that I get a story as interesting as this.)

* * *

><p>Text message from: Tooth Fairy<br>To: Medic

Red Lily. Midnight.  
>Two days. On standby.<br>Come alone.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

so rapunzel is the right hand lady of the right hand lady of the red king, meaning she is toothiana's right hand lady, and toothiana is north's right hand lady (his second in command).

i lost the map i made of stella morta and now i'm struggling to remember where exactly all the gangs and their hideouts are located ;A; if something doesn't add up, please let me know and i'll fix it.

reminder 1: romance between jack and elsa will be very slow. like, seriously, really slow.

reminder 2: while i know three months is a long time to wait (and i apologise for that) i do have university work to complete, like assignments and exams. the ones over the last two months were my first pieces of assessment, too, and i was worried about how well i would do. so please, while i don't particularly care about the odd 'please update!' review, i'd appreciate if you'd not pm me constantly bugging me for updates. i have a life outside of fanfiction, and that comes first, before anything.

updated: 27 june 2014


	8. Moments Like These

**notes:** srsly unbeta'd i'm v sorry i will check when i sleep bc it's 2am rn and i want to sleep but also give u guys this chapter. and a massive thank you to wickedgreenphantom and kuro-d for their unwavering support and peer pressure. without them i'm pretty sure i would have never updated.

**chapter eight: **moments like these

* * *

><p>Anna had never really understood why she and Elsa had grown apart. Her earliest memories consists of the two of them playing dolls together in the family living room, dressing up as princesses and sneaking into their mother's makeup collection to smear on green eyeshadow and bright orange lipstick.<p>

And then one day, there's a policeman at the door in a stiff blue uniform, with stiff hands clasped behind a stiff back. With stiff words and stiff eyes, and he says that Mr and Mrs Queen are dead and he says that he is very sorry for your loss and he says a lot of things that Anna can't remember, just remembers that Gerda had collapsed before his feet and her wails had shook the house.

Usually, stuff like that pulls the family together. Except it does the exact opposite. She remembers reaching for Elsa's hand, desperate for some semblance of normality, for a touch of human warmth, but when her fingers tremble against her sister's, Elsa flinches as if she's been burned, and her large blue eyes flickers down to her face, wide and terrified and _childlike_, and she pulls away from everyone and runs into her room.

It was that moment, Anna thinks, where she had a strange, unsettling feeling that she had lost some part of her older sister, and she will never get it back.

Mr and Mrs Queen weren't the only ones who died that day.

* * *

><p>The Red Lily is empty when she arrives, the restaurant front dark and a sad CLOSED sign hanging crookedly from the glass. Elsa fishes out her keys and heads to the back, seeing a sliver of light from underneath the back door.<p>

The kitchen seems quiet and strange in the eerie night, pots gleaming idly in the dull light, and Elsa almost jumps out of her skin when something nudges her right shoulder.

Choking back a scream, Elsa whirls around blindly and swings her bag at whatever it is, but her wrist is grasped in a painfully tight hold.

"Slow down, sweetheart, or I'll break your arm," an accented voice murmurs in her ear, and Elsa feels a lot like crying. The last time someone had whispered in her ear, she was bleeding from between her legs and agony was ripping through her body like—

"That's enough, Bunnymund," says another voice, deep and irritated. "Stop scaring her."

"She tried to hit me!"

'Bunnymund' is a grizzled man with two faded pink scars running deep down his right cheek and triangular tribal tattoos neatly inked into his biceps and down his arms. He has two large front teeth, and when he smiles it doesn't quite reach his stormy grey eyes. There are two handheld daggers strapped to his belt, and Elsa is willing to bet there are more tucked hidden under his clothes, with intricately carved wooden hilts that have been worn smooth by years of use.

"Jack," Elsa breathes, spotting the other man lounging against the deep freezer door. Jack is swathed in a black trench coat and navy blue scarf so huge that it covers his mouth and nose. He waves and winks at her, and Elsa recoils immediately.

"Elsa," Jack says amicably. "Thank you for turning up on time."

There is movement behind the two, and to Elsa's great relief, the huge shadow of Shang appears, ghostlike and soundless. Elsa hadn't even heard the door open. Shang offers her a gentle smile and claps Jack on the shoulder.

"Good evening," Shang says, and his grin is almost lethal. He's wearing jersey that has Shaolin Ravens printed in threaded gold that stands in stark contrast against the black fabric; Elsa knows that on some weekdays when the restaurant isn't as busy, Shang is a part-time kung fu instructor at the local institute. "Please don't touch anything in my kitchen."

"Aye, aye, captain," Jack says mockingly. The clock overhead ticks steadily towards 12:10am. "Who are we still waiting for?"

"Ping will be here soon," Shang says. "She's got the rest of the group."

Her hands are sweating, and Elsa makes sure she puts a fair distance between herself and Bunnymund especially, unconsciously inching closer towards Shang, whose face puts her most at ease in this room.

"What—what am I actually doing here?" Elsa manages to stutter out, and thankfully her voice remains quite steady.

"All you need to know is that there's gonna be a lot of injuries tonight," Jack says sinisterly. "I hope you've got your best bandages in that little backpack of yours."

"We're just going for a little raid," Shang says. "Gang business. You don't want to know."

They all fall silent after that. Elsa finds herself eyeing Jack, who's playing with a butchers knife, much to Shang's silent chagrin. It's nearing half past twelve when the back door finally squeaks open, and a dozen or so footsteps patter in, soft as mice.

Ping is a slight little thing and Elsa almost mistakes her for a boy if not for her chest, with inky black hair that falls just past her collarbones and bronze skin. She's wearing a shirt that falls off one shoulder and with sleeves too long, and when she walks Elsa notices that her shoes are much too big for her tiny feet. Ping keeps her eyes lowered, and bows hurriedly to Shang, who nods curtly in her direction. Trailing behind her is a group of teenagers all in various states of nervousness, and it almost pains Elsa to watch them awkwardly shuffle into a scattered circle around the fryer.

"Alright," Jack calls out, and his voice sounds like a gunshot. "Listen up everyone. Here's what's going to happen tonight."

"Pitch Black has a warehouse in the East end of the city," Bunnymund chimes. "Now I'm sure you're all aware that a couple of days ago, that fucker dropped a roof on our King and his lieutenants, and just yesterday busted one of the warehouses for our weapons storage. So tonight we're going in for a little intel, and if it just so happens that Pitch's warehouse takes some damage that may or may not have been caused by a couple of gangly good-for-nothing teens, then so be it."

"So, gentleman," Jack continues, "This is Ping. She will be leading you tonight."

Elsa raises an eyebrow in disbelief and she isn't the only one to do so. Ripples of anxiety run through the rest of the group, and Ping seems to shrivel up under all the attention. Elsa doesn't know why Jack has entrusted this mission onto a girl who looks as if one gust of wind could blow her away, but if there's one thing she's learned so far, it's that gangs aren't stupid, and if Jack has put her in charge then he has a very good reason to. Elsa just hopes that more than one member of this group will return unscathed tonight.

"I'll, uh, I'll do my best," Ping murmurs, and when she peeks out for under long black lashes, Elsa feels a twinge of uneasiness. There is something off about Ping, but Elsa doesn't know what.

"That's settled then," Jack grins. He claps his hands in mock delight. "Shang over here will give you guys a short debrief, and then you're all off!"

"Have fun," Bunnymund says cheerily and rests a hand casually on one of his daggers.

* * *

><p>"I say we kill the guard, take the keys, and just make a run for it."<p>

"And I say that's a terrible idea because then it's obvious who killed him and I refuse to be a criminal convicted for murder."

"Awww, has the little puppy never killed no one before?"

"Hardly. But unlike you I leave the bodies buried, and no one will ever be able to pin me for them."

"Well, for your sake, I'm hoping that that little camera in the corner over there can't pick up what you're saying, because to me that sounds like a really nice confession."

"Please. The Olympians disabled sound on all the cameras when they took over this precinct. God knows why though; Zeus always had some funny things running around in his brain."

Flynn raises an eyebrow at her. "Zeus thinks more with his dick than his brain."

"And yet he's King," Rapunzel counters easily. She sighs and draws her knees up under her chin. "I'm so _bored_. Let's get out of here already."

"We will once we have an escape plan," Flynn says. He scratches his stubble absentmindedly, and Rapunzel refuses to think that it's cute. "Why can't we just wing it? This police station is the shits anyway."

Struggling not to roll her eyes, Rapunzel says, "Because we'll get shot before we make it outside. The police are corrupted, but they're not on our side. We need to be smarter than that."

"Or we could just wing it."

* * *

><p>After Ping's group leaves, Shang bids the remaining three a goodnight, and Bunnymund follows soon after with a huge yawn. And then it's Jack and Elsa left in The Red Lily's gleaming kitchen, with its cracked tiles and forever stained rags. Jack doesn't look at Elsa, even though she's staring at him so hard it should burn a hole right through his head.<p>

Anna thinks she's doing an internship at the local hospital. Elsa has to physically force the words through her throat, to stop herself from crumpling up with guilt when she sees Anna's face light up with joy and _oh my gosh you're like becoming a real doctor Elsa that's so amazing I'm going to tell everyone oh my gosh I'm so excited for you!_

"Let's move," Jack says, surprisingly softly. "We'll move to someplace safer."

Elsa blinks up at him, brain responding slowly. He doesn't come any closer to her, just jerks his head at the door. Outside, the air turns white when they breathe, and Jack amuses himself briefly as he tries to make rings. Elsa just hovers unsurely by his side, clutching her medical bag with tight fingers until Jack lets out a loud, unexpected laugh and turns his head towards her. His eyes dance in the moonlight.

"Loosen up, Elsa," Jack chuckles, more to himself than to her. "Moments like these don't come by every day."

"Moments?" Elsa echoes, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Jack says, spreading his arms and tilting his head towards the night sky. "Kinda peaceful, don't you think?"

Not really, Elsa wants to say. Not really. I'm standing outside a restaurant at one o'clock in the morning, in the middle of gang territory and in a few hours I'll be treating a bunch of teenagers for injuries that could have been prevented if the stupid government could take care of its corrupt officials. I'm standing here in the middle of a back alley terrified out of my skin when I should be in bed. I'm standing here with guy who thinks that this is all one big game.

"Yeah," is all Elsa says, and Jack finally decides to stop ogling the stars and heads off. He takes her by the arm, and Elsa wiggles her way out. "Please don't touch me."

"Not much of a feely person, are you," Jack hums, but he doesn't look very offended at Elsa's actions.

"Can we just go?"

"Sure thing."

They wind through the back ends of Stella Morta, slipping through cracks and holes and behind bars and through secret passage ways, until Elsa's head is almost spinning from all the new information that she tries to memorise. Jack is confident though, easily picking his way through street brawls and winking at the scantily-clad women who lounge carelessly against thrumming club doors.

The city has a strange aura to it tonight. The lights are brighter, the sounds and smells sharper. Maybe because deep down inside where Elsa doesn't want to admit, she can feel thrills of excitement, thrills of rebellion, shoot through her like electricity.

* * *

><p>It takes four hours for Ping's group to return. Jack leads Elsa to an apartment complex that's empty save for two other occupied rooms. Elsa rests on the bed that puffs up a cloud of dust when she puts her weight on it, while Jack had taken his place sitting underneath the window.<p>

"Never stand at a window for too long," Jack explains to her. "Or you might get shot. And no, I'm not joking. Ange Noir's primary sniper is a trigger-happy bitch."

Two o'clock passes, and then three. The night darkens considerably, and at around half past three, the city goes silent for a while, with the occasional car beeping its way towards home.

When it's almost four in the morning, Jack's phone blips, and he says, "They've secured some info. They should be coming back soon."

"Why did you send for me so early though?" Elsa asks, and her voice cracks from lack of usage. "As in, I could have just come now instead of waiting for hours."

Because," Jack says simply, "you have to learn how to wait."

"I _am_ patient," Elsa tries not to grumble. Sleep had eluded her, and she's feeling the effects harshly.

"It's not about patience," Jack says. His voice is so low, and Elsa has to lean forward to catch his next words. "You need to know how painful it is to wait for them to come back."

_Home_, Elsa nearly finishes for him. Out loud, she says, "They sound as if they've gone to war."

"There's a reason we call them gang wars."

"Oh."

Elsa feels as if things have been thrown into a new perspective, and she finds herself itching to ask questions.

"Then," Elsa says slowly, "are you close… with, um, Ping?"

"We're alright," Jack says. He's always been talkative, but today he seems happy to share something more substantial. "Ping is closest to Shang, to be honest. I just like her because she's a good soldier."

"How about Bunnymund?"

"He's a piece of shit."

"…"

"I mean, yeah, he's alright. He's an alright piece of shit."

Elsa squints at him, but the sound of fireworks stops her from saying anything further. Except it's not fireworks; Stella Morta is too poor for them.

"Seriously?" Jack groans, peeking out the window. "Hero's 6 are having a gunfight right outside the street. Come and take a look; you should get familiar with them."

"Another gang?" Elsa asks, scooting over and glancing through the musty panes of glass. There are three figures on the street, two with bandanas tied around the lower half of their face, the other wearing a kabuki mask and dressed in all black.

"Yup. Now remember them. The one with the yellow bandana is a chick named GoGo. She's insane, I'm not even kidding. If you try to shoot her, she'll pull out her gun and empty an entire magazine into your body before you can even reach into your jacket. And if you're chasing her on foot, you can kiss her ass goodbye. No one's ever been able to outrun her; the girl's a cheetah, I swear to god."

True to Jack's word, GoGo takes off at a sprint towards the kabuki-masked man, and in two seconds she's crossed the length of the street and delivering a powerful kick towards his face.

"Now the other one in purple is Hiro Hamada," Jack continues, gaze never leaving the fight down below. "He's usually paired up with his older brother, Tadashi. The Hamada brothers are in a league of their own. They're crazy smart, and they have intel on every gang in this fucked up city, including the Red Crowns. They're neutral, though, and they trade in information. Everyone hates them, but everyone needs them too."

"What about the man in the mask?" Elsa asks. Hiro fires two more rounds, but he misses by a hair's breadth. Even in the darkness, she sees GoGo's eyes narrow.

"I don't know. He's called Yokai," Jack shrugs. "He's not our problem; he only ever bothers Hero's 6, for some reason. My guess is that he needs information that the 6 aren't willing to share, or the 6 have pissed him off enough for him to want revenge, which isn't surprising, to say the least."

"So there are six of them?"

"Yeah. Hiro, Tadashi, GoGo, some idiot named Fred, and two others who we haven't pinpointed yet. They have their own underlings, of course, but those are the founding members."

"Who's the leader?"

"About ninety-nine percent sure that Tadashi is their King." Jack wrinkles his nose. "He never shows up to any of the Assemblea. It really pisses everyone else off, because if there's one thing Kings and Queens take seriously, it's that stupid ass meeting. It's excellent for scoping out rival gangs. But then again, Tadashi Hamada's always liked playing with fire."

GoGo, Hiro, and Yokai disappear into the next street, and Elsa can still hear the sound of gunshots long after they have gone.

A loud rapping at the door causes Elsa to jump five centimetres into the air, while Jack waits for the series of knocks to finish. Three knocks, pause, one knock, pause, two knocks, and one final loud thump.

"That's them," Jack says, hurrying to open the door. "And they've got someone tailing them." He peeks back at Elsa. "I'll teach you the knock codes later."

The bloody tatters of Ping's group spill through the opening. Elsa confirms with a quick head count that the original number still remains, although they're all injured to some degree or other. Ping herself is fine, and she tells Jack with a quick mumble, "There's, um, a Nightmare following us. He's in the building, first floor, and he doesn't know we're onto to him yet."

"Thanks, Ping," Jack says with a wry smile. "You look perfect, as usual."

"Not a scratch," Ping replies with her own little smirk, and when she turns her deep brown eyes over to Elsa's, they're cunning and sharp and intelligent, and Elsa wonders how she's missed it before.

Elsa looks away and busies herself with the injured. They're nothing too serious, and Elsa is able to handle them by herself. Just bandages and some painkillers. There is one boy who had been shot, and Elsa had sent him off to the hospital with the name Belle Gold to use. Elsa hadn't lowered herself to stealing medication yet, and she still doesn't trust herself with serious injuries.

"Basically, we just need you to confirm which ones are serious and which ones aren't," Jack tells her. "Way too many fucking times, we've had members die of infection or internal bleeding or some shit because we couldn't recognise the signs and symptoms. That's where you come in."

"But you still need x-rays and scans and, you know, stuff," Elsa says weakly as she wraps up a huge scrape. "You don't really… need me."

"We do, so please just do your job," Jack says boredly. "This is easy. You don't get too many injuries on a raid. Think of it as practice."

Elsa catches a shadow underneath the door, and she's sure Jack and Ping see it as well, but neither bat an eyelash.

"Let him go," Jack says, after exchanging a loaded glance with Ping. "We won't be able to catch him, and he didn't see any important faces. All he'll have to report back to Pitch on is that we've got a new medic, and that's nothing to be worked up over."

Fear washes over Elsa, and she shakily clips up the bandage, before nudging her patient away so she can deal with the last few. "Will they—I mean—"

"You'll be fine," Ping assures Elsa quietly. "We protect our own."

And Elsa hasn't done _anything_ yet. She's on her first job, not initiated, no tattoo. She's unwilling and scared and she wishes she were somewhere else. Gang life terrifies her to her core. She has no friends, and everyone around her intimidates her until she wants to curl up into a ball and block everything out. This is not her world, and she is an outsider forced onto an alien landscape. It's clear she does not want to be here, and despite all that, despite only doing this for the money, despite everything—_We protect our own._

Her chest feels strange, tight, and Elsa realises that no one has ever said that to her before. Even since her parents' death, ever since she became head of the household at thirteen years old, she's belonged nowhere. Her home is cold, her room is suffocating. The streets are noisy and distracting, and school had been a place of constant suffering. And here she is, someone saying straight to her face, no lies and no deceit, _we protect our own_, and Elsa feels the horrible, horrible urge to cry.

I must be truly desperate, if something like this can move me, Elsa thinks to herself.

And she succumbs ever so slightly to that desperation, and feels a little of the weight lift off her thin shoulders.

* * *

><p>"Merida," Anna snaps, stalking over to where the wild-haired girl is currently cleaning her sniper's rifle. "Did you shoot Stella Morta's governor?"<p>

Barely looking at the enraged third in command, Merida hums thoughtfully and says, "Not technically."

"Not technically?"

"I shot a steel post, not him."

"_Merida_."

"And it just ricocheted off and _happened_ to hit the lad."

"In the chest, right in his heart."

"Well, yeah."

Merida grins up at Anna, showing off her teeth. "I've gotten better. Last time I tried that the bullet went through the right side of the heart."

"Facilier is going to eat you alive," Anna says, relaxing a little. Her face settles into a blank expression. "You were supposed to wait till next week, when the governor's daughters arrive."

"It dun make a difference," Merida shrugs. She packs up her rifle and gets to her feet, brushing a stray strand of unruly red hair behind her ear. "The governor's dead. That'll teach the dumb cows not ta mess around with Ange Noir. Ya don't steal from us and expect nothing back."

There's a steady three knocks at the door, and then it opens.

"Did I miss something?"

"Hans," Anna says with a small smile. The man closes the door behind him, wary of letting diners see what was inside the back room. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on the shipments," Hans says. The man looks ruffled and haggard, deep blue moons stamped beneath his eyes. His usually flawlessly gelled hair is a bird's nest today, and his nails are chipped and yellow. "I'm just here to update you both."

"Shoot," Merida says, tilting her head back. She sniggers at her pun.

Coughing, Hans begins, "Facilier is getting restless. He wants to attack Pitch now, but we have to recall our main forces back. Plus, we've been getting problems with our customers recently; none of them are paying, and we can't just keep killing them off. We're losing money."

The chatter and laughter of patrons leak through the door, and Anna hears someone drop a plate. She momentarily loses herself in the smell of bacon, and her stomach gurgles insistently. It's been hours since she last ate; she's been busy running around trying to sort out cover stories for the governor's untimely death, thanks to Merida's impatience.

"What's happening with Flynn?" Anna asks finally, when she's finishing mulling things over. In the corner of her eye, she sees Merida perk up at the mention of the name. Merida and Flynn had grown up together on Stella Morta's streets; they had been initiated at the same time, and though their different skill sets usually put them on different missions, they worked very well together.

Maybe it was the constant need to rebel against authorities, Anna grumbles to herself.

"Still in the north police station," Hans says tiredly, but he still holds himself straight. "I haven't had time to send anyone to get him out."

"Leave him," Anna says carelessly. She crosses her arms. "He's smart enough to get out by himself. We have bigger things to worry about, and no, Merida, we need you somewhere else, so don't even think about trying to help him. It's his own fault he got caught."

Merida, about to speak up, slumps back down again crankily.

"We've also been informed that the Red Crowns have gotten themselves a new medic," Hans says. "Hero's 6 info, so it's legitimate. Also heard a group of Nightmares whispering about it too."

"Has he been checked out?"

"She," Hans corrects, "and yes, I've done the background check. She's nothing to worry about."

Hans says this smoothly and cleanly, and yet Anna still feels as if he's hiding something.

"Is that so," Anna asks, hiding her suspicions. She'll do her own background check on this medic later.

"So? It's just a medic," Merida shrugs. "Why so worked up over it?"

"You've been in this life for three years already, Merida," Hans says, "you know that additions to any gang, whether it be the new medic or the new toilet cleaner, has to be checked."

"I don't pay attention to the details," Merida insists. Anna finally decides to take pity on her.

"You know Drei Schönheit, the German girl gang?" Anna asks. When Merida nods her head, she says, "Well, a couple of years back, they initiated this girl whose street name was Snow White. They called her their new cook, and it made sense. Schönheit owns a restaurant chain dealing drugs under the table. And no one cared about her, she was just this air-headed chef who occasionally mistakes the salt for the sugar. Then when the War of the Centre Territories started, Schönheit was left in the dust, and everyone forgot about them. Then, people start dying mysteriously. Bodies were dropping like flies everywhere. And it was random, unplanned. No visible wounds. Everyone was freaking out. It took weeks of investigating, but then we realised that it was fucking Snow White. She was poisoning important gang members at those damned restaurants of theirs. Dropping toxins into a bowl of soup with a sugary smile on her face. God, her body count was horrific."

"How on earth did I miss this mess?" Merida muses.

"You were stationed on the north end of the city," Hans recalls. "They didn't touch that area. It belongs to the Crowns, and they aren't dumb enough to go there. They're strong, but their numbers aren't big enough."

"Moral of the story is, if someone had done a background check on Snow White, they would've found out that she's a class A criminal with a history of poisonings and has gone to juvie two times, and prison once, for them," Anna says. "Nobody could pin her down for the murders though, so she was charged with other things."

"Is she still active?" Merida asks interestedly. "I kind of want to meet her."

"Schönheit is lying low for the moment," Anna says, shifting her weight. "We haven't heard from them in months. Cinderella didn't attend this year's Assemblea, and Aurora didn't take her place as second in command either."

"Aw, shame." Merida kicks her legs back contentedly. "She sounds like a riot."

Moving towards the door, Anna says, "I'm off. I've got school tomorrow. Maths exam, English test, the usual."

"You should just drop out, like me," Merida sings out. "My life has gotten a whole lot better without it."

"I'd rather be literate, thanks," Anna says dryly. She steps out, smiling at a diner sitting nearby, and bade goodbye to Jane, who is a waitress and a low-key member of Ange Noir.

"Will Tarzan be back soon?" Jane asks, and though she's bubbly, Anna can sense the worry lurking underneath.

"Soon," Anna laughs. "Tomorrow, maybe. He's fine, though, so rest easy."

Jane smiles thankfully at her, and resumes working.

When Anna turns away, she clenches her fist and feels her heart drop like stone.

Tomorrow, Anna promises herself. Tomorrow, she will tell Jane Porter that Tarzan's body was found in a dumpster west of Stella Morta.

What Anna won't tell Jane the way Tarzan's limbs had been hacked off his body and neatly tied together with a huge red ribbon. She won't tell Jane the way his unseeing eyes had been glassy with agony. She won't tell Jane about the note that was scrunched up and shoved inside his mouth that read Ange Noir's secret motto: _Anything for the Angels_.

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Olaf," Elsa croaks out, stopping in front of her apartment block. "What are you doing up so early? It's only six."<p>

"Morning, Elsa," Olaf chirps. He's tiny little thing, ten years old, with dark brown hair and wide, excited eyes. Olaf lives in the complex beside Elsa's, and she sees him almost everyday playing with the children in the street. He's got buck teeth that gives him a slight lisp when he talks. "Just wondering why you're looking so tired."

"Late night, that's all," Elsa smiles wanly. She reaches down and pats his head. "I'm going to go and sleep it off now. Tell your parents I said hi."

"Will do, Elsa. Have a good sleep!"

As Elsa watches Olaf scurry off with his friends, she hopes and prays and wishes that what little innocence this city has will be protected, because children like Olaf don't deserve to live a life tainted by gangs.

* * *

><p>BREAKING NEWS: Two criminals escaped from police station in North Stella Morta early this morning: Rapunzel Corona, Flynn Rider. If you have any information, please contact: XXX-XXX-XXX<p>

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

drei schönheit (german) = three beauties

because i heard that snow white and cinderella were set in germany (not sure about sleeping beauty though) so just in tribute to their origins, there u go. but srsly tho, a german girl gang. how awesome is that. girl gangs in general are awesome.

i'm just going to go ahead and announce that this will be a huge disney/dreamworks/pixar fiesta with all and any characters appearing and disappearing and doing the hula dance through this fic bc honestly i just need a large array of characters and limiting it to just frozen and rotg is not going to work. main fandoms will be frozen/rotg and main pairing will be jelsa, that's all u need to know.

finally, i am very very very sorry about how late this was (like 6 months or something lololol). you don't need to hear my excuses, just know that i'm sorry. also a HUGE thank you for over 200 reviews for only 7 chapters! much appreciated, and i love you all.

updated: 25 february 2015


	9. Interlude 1: What a Tragedy

in my world toothiana has blue hair and purple eyes throughout life bc i don't think anyone can recognise her without her trademark bright colours.

**chapter nine, interlude 1: what a tragedy (a glimpse into toothiana's, bunnymund's and sandy's childhoods)**

* * *

><p>[xii]<p>

Bunnymund knows instantly that something is wrong.

Sandy knows too, as he stiffens ever so slightly by his side.

Toothiana sits with her shoulders hunched over, small fingers loosely wrapped around the rusty chains of the swing set. Her school backpack lies abandoned a few metres away, Hello Kitty design faded and covered in mud and Hello Kitty herself sporting a rather trendy permanent marker moustache ("It looks even better now," Bunnymund declares with a grin, as Toothiana's mouth opens in horror as she stares from her mutilated backpack to the offending pen in her friend's awkward hands, and Sandy rolls his eyes so hard they nearly fall out of their sockets).

"Toothie?" Bunnymund murmurs, when he comes close enough. He sees her shift minutely, but she doesn't turn around. "Toothie, what's wrong?"

He and Sandy step to her front, and spot her red, puffy eyes and dripping nose. Sandy gives a little gasp of surprise.

And then Bunnymund's surging forth, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her to his chest, as Toothiana gives something of a wail and buries her face into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Sandy chokes and worms his way between them; among the three, he is the oldest, but he is also the smallest.

Bunnymund can't remember the last time Toothiana cries (perhaps it was when they were five, and Toothiana's bullies had slammed her head-first into a pole, and Toothiana doesn't cry from the pain, but rather the humiliation), and so he doesn't know what else to do but cry with her.

They stay like that for a while. Just three sobbing twelve year olds in the middle of a park, in the middle of an usually warm winter's day; a tangle of limbs and years of friendship.

When Toothiana calms down, she doesn't pull away, and instead croaks, "I'm sorry for ruining your shirt."

"It's okay," Bunnymund says. His voice sounds like a bullfrog.

"Why were you guys crying anyway," Toothiana sniffs critically, leaning back and patting Sandy's soft cheeks.

"Because you were crying," Bunnymund answers simply. He ruffles Toothiana on the head and totters to the other swing, while Sandy plops down on the ground in front of them.

Toothiana snorts and looks away. And then she is silent for a very long time. The shadows are beginning to lengthen before she speaks again, and Bunnymund and Sandy are patient, just rocking gently along with her.

"My mum got shot today," Toothiana says blandly, "by the Hunter." Bunnymund's breath stops. Toothiana doesn't need to say anything else, because they know.

"Toothie," Sandy whispers.

At twelve, a hole cracks apart not only Toothiana's life, but Bunnymund and Sandy's as well. At twelve, the first shadow of death clings to their skin and begins to fester like milk left out in the sun. At twelve, they finally begin to see the world as it truly is, and it's almost too ugly for them to bear.

"Toothie," Bunnymund repeats, because that's all he can choke out, that's all he thinks about.

"Yeah," Toothiana says quietly. They don't need to say anything else; she understands.

* * *

><p>[xii]<p>

Things change after that.

Toothiana starts taking on job after job after job; she needs to support herself and her little sister, Baby T, and with no support from the government, life is tough on a twelve year old girl with no other guardians to speak of. (And no one really knows what Baby T's real name is. Toothiana refuses to tell anyone, and the nickname itself had just stuck after Sandy had crooned out something nonsensical after singing the little girl nursery rhymes one evening.)

"I'm working at Mal's Diner tonight," Toothiana says one day in the middle of lunch at Bunnymund's place. "They've got me washing dishes, but the pay's alright. It's my first day so I gotta impress them and maybe they'll even raise my wage."

Bunnymund knows that she's lying. An underaged worker is never paid 'alright', but Toothiana is desperate, and she takes anything she can get.

"Okay," Sandy says quietly. He flips her a wan smile. "What time do you finish?"

"Eleven," Toothiana says easily. She's lying again. She'll probably be finishing around one or two o'clock on the morning. "Baby T—"

"She'll be with us," Bunnymund cuts in, and Toothiana's shoulders relax. "Just… take care on the way back home."

(Later that night, I'm watching Toothiana stacking the last plate on the rack at three a.m. and bid farewell to the boss at three thirty. Her chest is heavy, I can tell, but she brushes away any dark thoughts that bother her and heads out into the night air. Her breaths are almost opaque, and when she turns the corner, she spots two figures dawdling in the alleyway, and prepares to hurry past them.

"Oi," one of them calls out, and instantly, my presence becomes stronger. I amble towards Toothiana, leans my head on her shoulder. Her muscles tense as she thinks about running. "Oi, Toothiana!"

Relief and surprise dances across her face.

"Bunnymund?" she asks incredulously. "Sandy? What—"

"Baby T didn't want to sleep without you," Sandy grimaces as the two boys peel themselves out from the shadows. "She was so noisy, I swear I was gonna tape her mouth shut. Kept insisting that I go out to get you. We left her with Bunny's mum, so she's alright, but—"

"You guys shouldn't be up at this time," Toothiana scolds. "There are dangerous people around, and—"

"We know," Bunnymund says gently. He reaches out and ruffles her hair. "We just couldn't sleep either."

He hands her a coat that's balled up under his arm, and realises that she's shivering. She hadn't even noticed. But when she takes the coat—it's too big, probably Bunnymund's own—she finds herself blinking back tears, and curses herself for being so emotional.

"Thanks," Toothiana says quietly, "for being here."

"I told you, we couldn't sleep and Baby T wouldn't stop screaming," Bunnymund rolls his eyes. "Me and Sandy just wanted to walk."

Never mind the fact that from Mal's Diner is an hour's walk from his place, never mind that it's nearing the middle of winter and the nights are so cold that sometimes her fingers turn blue. Never mind that it's three thirty in the morning and they all have school in a few hours.

"Okay," Toothiana says simply, but Sandy squeezes her arm, and she leans into his touch, and Bunnymund musses her hair again.)

* * *

><p>[x]<p>

Once, when Bunnymund is ten, he whines for his sandwich to be cut into four little squares, even though Toothiana groans and complains, and Sandy silently slaps him at the back of the head. But Bunnymund is insistent, and finally, having enough of his string of reasons why a cut sandwich is more delicious than an uncut one, Toothiana slices her hand open trying to reach for the kitchen knife. There is no one home, and technically Toothiana isn't even allowed to touch knives, so while Bunnymund panics at the red oozing from the wound, Toothiana just screws up her face and stutters out a sharp, "Don't tell anyone."

Sandy is calm, and without fail he brings a stool over to the sink, and guides Toothiana's hand under running water.

"Get the medical kit," Sandy instructs, as Bunnymund's face slowly turns ashen.

Their babysitter is useless; she's snoring away on the couch to the tune of Saturday morning cartoons.

"Oh, please, Bun," Toothiana snaps, when they're all kneeling on the tiles and the contents of the kit is scattered around them. "It's just a little blood. Don't be a baby."

"It's a lot of blood," Bunnymund rasps. Sandy neatly clips the bandage together, but Bunnymund is still a little green at the edges.

Sandy sighs and stands. "I'll go put this back," he says nonchalantly, too calm for a boy of ten. "Take care of her."

When Sandy leaves the room, Bunnymund's throat closes, and he suddenly can't bring himself to meet Toothiana's eyes. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

Toothiana nudges him roughly ("Why aren't you ever gentle like a real girl?!" Bunnymund once asks snidely, and fails to miss Toothiana's incoming fist to his face) and says, "This is the first time you've been quiet for more than ten seconds. Don't tell me you've run out of things to say."

A weak chuckle escapes his lips, but it falls flat as soon as Bunnymund catches sight of Toothiana's hand.

She must hate him. She must hate him so much. He got her hurt and she must hate him.

"Does it hurt a lot?" he mumbles.

"Not really," Toothiana says casually. She flexes her fingers. "Stings a bit, but it'll heal."

"Sorry," Bunnymund whispers inaudibly. He's looking anywhere but Toothiana's face. He's afraid to see the disappointment.

"What?"

"For that." He gestures.

"Bun, what are you talking about?"

He dares a look at her, and he braces himself for her anger. But all he sees is genuine confusion.

"For hurting you," he chokes out. He feels his face getting warm, feels tears prick the back of his eyeballs, and he's horrified at himself. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Toothie, I'm sorry about making you bleed. Toothie, Toothie, I'm sorry. If I hadn't–if I hadn't been such a whiner, this wouldn't have happened–you wouldn't have been hurt–"

"Bun," Toothiana says gently (it's so rare that she's gentle) and she touches his arm. "Bun, it's not your fault. You didn't pick up the knife and stab me, you know. I got hurt myself."

She smiles, and for a second all he sees is a scrunched up nose, the freckles across her cheeks, two rows of white teeth. For a second all he sees is blue hair and bright purple eyes. And in that second, Bunnymund realises that this is the girl whom he will stay by her side forever.

"Stop crying!" Toothiana laughs. "It's nothing to cry over. C'mon, I hate seeing you cry. You look like an big walrus."

And Bunnymund can't stop crying, for whatever strange reason. And Toothiana is the one hurt, Toothiana is the one in pain, but she's the one holding Bunnymund as he apologises over and over and over again.

"Bun is going to win the award for Sissy of the Year," Sandy comments offhandedly when he returns, and Bunnymund aims a hard kick at his ankles.

* * *

><p>[xiii]<p>

The three of them grew up in the dusty streets of Stella Morta, together, inseparable, and for a long time they all believed that it would be forever.

(But growing up is a painful process. You start to drift, as people are wont to do, and sometimes things just don't align like they used to anymore. Toothiana realises this first.)

"I'm Kozmotis Pitchiner," the detective says. He's tall, with strong shoulders and a sharp nose. He surveys the crime scene with an intensity that only comes with experience, and his movements are slow, but precise, as if he has every ounce of control over his muscles. "Do you have a legal guardian with you anywhere?"

Toothiana shakes her head, and the blood behind her ear cracks and flakes off. Her lips are swollen and her left eye is bruised eggplant purple.

"How old are you?" Kozmotis asks. He's friendly, warm, but Toothiana wants to throw up. She wants to bury herself into the earth, down where it's dark and cool, and maybe this will have never happened. This wouldn't have happened. This wouldn't have—

"Thirteen." The whisper is dry, quivering, like the thin keen of an out of tune violin. Is she thirteen? What kind of thirteen year old does something like this? "I don't—I don't know what happened—I swear—I just came—I'm not—I didn't—"

"Alright, alright," Kozmotis says kindly. He's a nice man, Toothiana notes numbly. Nice, like what she supposes a father should be like. "You're not hurt anywhere?"

"No."

"Let's take you to the medics just in case, hm?"

They step away from the body, limbs flailed in odd angles, head propped up against the wet wall of the alleyway. Trash litters the scene, and several pearly white teeth drown in a pool of blood.

* * *

><p>[vi]<p>

"I'm gonna be a queen when I grow up," Toothiana announces.

"Why not a princess?" Bunnymund asks dumbly. He takes a huge bite out of his sandwich, and growls angrily when another child's ball rolls too close to the trio in the school playground. His unchewed sandwich almost falls out of his mouth.

Toothiana gives him a withering look. "Because being a queen is better than a princess. They're more important!"

"I'm gonna be a King, then," Sandy chimes. "Kings are more powerful than queens."

"No they're not!" Toothiana gasps. "They're the same!"

"Hey, that means you're marrying Toothiana," Bunnymund says. He wrinkles his nose. "Ewww! Toothiana's got cooties!"

He gets a face full of crackers for that comment. Bunnymund lunges at the girl, and they tussle for a few minutes until a teacher yells at them to calm themselves.

"Then, what do you want to be?" Sandy asks, after the chaos dies down. Bunnymund flops onto his back, apparently in deep thought.

"I don't really wanna be a leader," Bunnymund says finally. "It's sounds like too much effort. Maybe I'll just be a commander or something."

"That's still being a leader," Toothiana says smartly.

"Yeah, but not a leader-leader, just a leader."

"Bunnymund's weird," Toothiana says to Sandy, who nods solemnly in agreement.

* * *

><p>[xvi]<p>

They're sixteen, and Emily Jane is dead.

It's not their fault.

Not really.

But Kozmotis still looks at them with hollow eyes, and his mouth barely moves as he breathes a nearly inaudible, "Why."

This time, there's no mistaking it. Toothiana is the one who holds the gun, and it's heavy in her grasp, like it might drag her to the ground.

Even Bunnymund can't find it in himself to speak. Sandy is the only one who's calm, who looks straight at Kozmotis and says, "It was an accident."

Except it hadn't been.

"It was Pirate work," Sandy continues, and Bunnymund wants to shake his friend, wants to slap him upside the head, because _why can't he see?_ It's their fault. It's their fault that Kozmotis Pitchiner's daughter is lying face down in the filthy streets of Stella Morta, a gunshot wound oozing black blood into the pavement. The moonlight illuminates nothing but the ghostly white of their skin, soaks up the colour of the blood like a rag.

Kozmotis Pitchiner collapses to the ground. His partner is stricken, the paramedics collectively give a heavy sigh, and the coroners come forward to do their job. The red and blue sirens of the police cars are blinding, and the world begins to mute, until all that's left is those flashing lights.

* * *

><p>[xiv]<p>

"I hate seeing you cry."

They are fourteen and they're standing in Toothiana's living room and Bunnymund is wailing again because he'd just stubbed his pinky toe against the corner of the table.

"Why are you such a crybaby," Sandy grumbles.

"Is it broken? I think it's broken. Oh my god, Sandy, is it broken?" Bunnymund whimpers. He refuses to look at his toe, convinced that it would be pointing the wrong way if he did.

"It's fine," Sandy sighs. "God, Bunny, calm down."

"I can't believe we're still putting up with you," Toothiana snorts. She's flicking her switchblade open and close, and Bunnymund eyes it nervously. Toothiana had only recently gotten it, and had been very pleased with her purchase. (She had stolen it, but no one ever needs to know.)

"It's not like you can get rid of me now," Bunnymund says sneakily. "I know all your secrets."

(Toothiana laughs, but it fades away quickly. In her pocket, there's a molar, still bloody where it had been pulled at the root. She clenches her hands around it, lets it go, and then moves forward to thump Bunnymund on the head.)

* * *

><p>[v]<p>

"It's mine!" Bunnymund screams, and Sandy screams back, possibly even louder, with a responding, "MINE!"

"No," Toothiana snarls, "Mine."

They all glare at each other, the challenge burning bright, before Sandy begins running to the corner store, and Bunnymund successfully trips him, and Toothiana almost rips away a clump of Bunnymund's hair, as they wage war on who would get the chocolate-flavoured ice cream this time.

The shopkeeper sighs at his wife, but it's tinged with affection as he watches the kids battle it out in front of the freezer.

"They never change," he remarks, and his wife chuckles beside him.

* * *

><p>(What a tragedy, I muse. Stories like these never get happy endings.)<p>

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

bc i am tokyo ghoul trash tbqh.

some background info—

the pirates - a very old gang, possibly one of the oldest gangs in stella morta's history. (based off characters of the same name from author william joyce's series _the guardians of childhood_; they were there before pitch black even became pitch black (they were, in fact, partially responsible for his creation, alongside fearlings and nightmare men).)

the hunter - based off the mysterious hunter in the novels too (he killed toothiana's parents and tried to kill her).

emily jane - more on her later

and to **plouf** that anonymous french reviewer from ch. 8: ?¿why?¿? tell me why?¿?¿ why was it disappointing?¿?¿

i am sooo sorry it's taken so long again. buuuut i finished my first batch of examinations so i'm all free for a month hurrrr. the next chapter is in the process of being written, so hopefully it should be up soon.

also, this fic is slowly getting moved over to ao3 as well (same username, same title), so if u like that site better check it out over there. but i'm only up to like ch. 2 bc i keep forgetting to add more chapters ;A;

until next time! thank u all for your lovely reviews ^^ in the next chapter we'll be back to the main plot line.

updated: 26 June 2015


	10. Street Rats

judging from the lack of response from the previous chapter, i see that random flashbacks in the middle of stories is quite unpopular with readers. lmfaoooo don't worry i won't be making a big thing of it. for the rest of the story, there'll either be at least one more interlude like that, or none at all. last chapter's thing was just to give some background info into the sandbuntooth trio to give you guys a better understanding as to why they act like they do now. although, of course, make sure to keep the details in mind bc they'll come back later (never mind the fact that i takes months to update so i don't blame anyone at all if they can barely remember what this dumb story is about).

this chapter is a bit lengthier than usual, and chapter title is completely unrelated to anything lmao. forgive any typos bc i wrote most of this in a two day spree usually around midnight and i got through a rough edit but decided to post bc u guys have waited long enough so i might have missed some silly mistakes and i will fix them later.

enjoy.

chapter ten: street rats

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><p>"We've got a mole in us," Merida sings. "Tarzan's dead and we still don't know who did it. Tarzan's dead and you still haven't told Jane Porter. You're gonna fuck her up~"<p>

"Shut it, Merida," Anna snaps. Her fists ball tightly by her side. "Did you come here just to piss me off?"

Anna pulls out a chair and sits down heavily. Merida closes the door securely, shutting off all sounds of the diner and its customers outside.

"No," Merida says unabashedly, picking at her nails, "I'm here to give you an update. So we've done some recruiting and we've picked up a few promising little peanuts—"

"Is this really important?" Anna says, and her irritation heightens. "We have a traitor and you're telling us about some fucked up kids who wanna join? Merida, please, I've got better things to do. This should have gone to someone lower than me."

"No, no, wait," Merida says, waving her hands. There's a glint in her eye that Anna is immediately suspicious of. "See what I have to say. Alright, so we have a lass called Tiana. She's, what, nineteen? Tall, sure of herself, confident; should be a good all-rounder in the long run. But you know what's interesting?"

"What?" Anna asks impatiently when Merida pauses for dramatic effect.

"Okay, see, Tiana's got this friend. She's a hooker, ay, and her stage name is Jasmine. She's a pretty little thing, like, _really _pretty—"

"Merida," Anna says, exasperated. She doesn't have time to deal with Merida's visual crushes.

"—right, so, Jasmine's a hooker at one of our newer clubs… uh, Agrabah, I think it as called—why do we have so many clubs?—and I'm there doing my thing, checking out the cute ladies, and I saw Jasmine come on and I'm like _whoa,_ like _damn_ her hips definitely don't lie—"

"_Merida_—"

"—okay, okay. So after Jasmine comes down off the stage, I'm informed of the various services she does, and I'm like _hell_ yeah I'm totally in. So I'm alone in the room with her, and then I'm all like _mmm this is the life_ because she's getting nice and handsy—"

"—_Merida I swear to god_—"

"—wait for it! Alright, so in the middle of it all, I see this weird sort of colouring on her lower back, ay. First I thought it was a weird sort of bruise. Then it came off on my fingers, and then I realise that it's makeup concealer. So I'm trying to figure out what she's hiding, because it was definitely some sort of tattoo. But everyone knows it's an Ange club, and I can see our tattoo on her shoulder just fine. So why has she got another one that she has to hide? Any affiliations with previous gangs are just crossed out, ya know, usual business. But Jasmine ain't dumb; she's trying to weasel her way out without seeming rude to a client. But I got a look at the ink. And guess what it is? You gotta guess, though."

Anna breathes in deeply through her nose. "One day," Anna says quietly to herself. "One day, I'll let myself go, and I'm going to slap Merida so hard she won't be able to aim straight for a week with that fucking rifle of hers."

Besides her, Hans chokes back a laugh, despite the situation they were in.

Merida sighs, annoyed that her story wasn't getting the attention it apparently deserved. "Alright, I'll just break it to you. It's a tattoo for the _Sandman_."

"… What," Anna says blankly. Merida huffs.

"The Sandman, Anna. He was head of the Red Crowns way back when, before North took over. Hell, I remember as a kid there were whispers on the streets of him, and I didn't even know what gangs _were_ back then. Which begs the question: why does Jasmine, a girl who's more or less our age, have a tattoo of a King who's been dead for ten years?"

"Not dead," Anna corrects absentmindedly, head reeling from all the new info. "I know who the Sandman is, Merida. Everyone knows him. And so everyone knows… that it wasn't _confirmed_ that he died. He just _disappeared_."

"Same thing," Merida says idly.

"No, no," Anna breathes, "it's not. This is… this is huge. The Sandman's tattoo hasn't been used in a decade. Everyone in the Crowns had their own symbol, but it was only the Sandman's inner circle who had his brand. After he disappeared, every one of them crossed it out. All of them. To go against that is a huge disrespect. No one would _ever_…"

"Are you sure you're not overanalysing?" Hans asks. He's nervous, but Anna is too distracted to question why. They were, after all, discussing an urban legend, and even the slightest possibility that the most famous King of their time had seemingly returned from the dead was enough to make people uncomfortable. The Sandman was not known for his kindness. "It's just a tattoo. Jasmine might have had it copied, she might have not crossed it out at all despite the fallback. There are a lot of possibilities and we can't jump to conclusions."

"He's right," Merida says. "I'm just reporting, Anna. I can follow up on it; for now, I think you've got bigger things to worry about. Like catching the mole. And also the fact that the Don is pressuring us to get the payments from our customers."

Hans nods in agreement, and Anna reluctantly snaps out of the theories that she's begun formulating. "Alright," Anna concedes. "So, Merida. All I want you to do now is tail Jasmine. Maybe put one of your men to it. You've got other things to be doing, after all, and she's seen your face. Does she know you saw the tattoo?"

"Probably," Merida says.

"So she won't trust you. Send someone else to snoop around."

"Righto, captain," Merida says cheerfully. "I might put Aladdin to the job. He sounds okay, hm?"

Grimacing, Anna says, "If you must. Tell him that this is his chance to redeem himself, after that whole theft fiasco with the Olympians. He's lucky we decided to save his ass, otherwise we would've let Athena chop off his hand, the dumb bastard."

"He's just hungry," Hans says, ever the voice of reason.

"We feed him and that damn pet of his more than enough," Anna says, irritated. "He's just doing it out of boredom."

"He's hungry for _more_," Merida says, probably trying to be mysterious but failing. "He wants all that life has to offer. Smart boy. He'll go a long way."

"Not if he keeps getting caught," Anna counters. She massages her temples. "Whatever. Okay, Merida, you deal with Jasmine, and _please_ keep your guns out of this. It's supposed to be _subtle_, alright?"

"No promises." The sniper flashes her a crooked smile, little more than a show of teeth, and flicks her mass of red curls before sauntering out of the door. The room is still surprisingly loud when she leaves; Anna is drumming thin fingers on the scratched plastic desktop, and Hans is breathing heavily behind her.

"She's still angry," Hans murmurs. "There's no word from Flynn, and she and Tarzan were really close."

"I _know_," Anna sighs, all emotions dissipating suddenly, until all that's left is her tiredness. A weight settles on her shoulders. "And Jane keeps asking me. She keeps—_ugh_, I don't know, _looking_ at me with those damn eyes. How am I supposed to tell her that her fiancé's body doesn't even _look_ like a body anymore, and that he was killed doing work that—"

"—that he _knew_ he could get killed for," Hans interrupts. He rests a hand on Anna's head soothingly.

Anna bristles, though. "Don't patronise me," Anna says quietly. She shakes his hand off. "I know what this life is about."

Withdrawing, Hans' face closes off, but when he speaks a second later, his voice is normal. "I have a list of people who I think may be traitors."

"They better not be people that I thought I could trust," Anna mumbles under her breath. "I can't deal with anymore betrayals, fuck it all."

"You can't trust anyone in this business, Anna," Hans chides. "You should drill that into your head. Don't trust anybody."

"Not even you?" Anna asks jokingly, and leans back on her chair.

"Not even me," Hans repeats.

* * *

><p>The streets are blurred, rain softening the jagged edges of the lamplights that shine dimly through the mist. Under an eave, watching the rivulets of water drip from the sides of the roof, a dark figure leans against the pole and breathes out a puff of milky white smoke. There's a few seconds where ash flutters and dissipates, slender fingers tapping the edges of the cigarette and then drawing the tip up to a pair of thin, grey lips.<p>

"You're late," Pitch Black says quietly.

"Apologies." A second man steps out of an alleyway, collar turned up to fight against the chill. "Got held up."

"Just get on with it," Pitch sighs boredly. "I've wasted enough time here as it is."

"Cuckoo has set everything up. Cops don't know shit; they gonna get their ass hauled when this explodes."

"But I trust there won't be any setbacks for me?"

"None. He's taken care of it."

"Excellent. Tell Cuckoo that I can secure him a fifth of the payment tomorrow. The rest will come when he finishes with the completion of each stage of the job."

"Sure thing. And this is your, uh, requirement."

The messenger gingerly hands Pitch a bag that drips something moist and putrid. Pitch opens the drawstring, glances inside, and closes it again with a satisfied nod. The messenger bows slightly, more out of instinct than anything, and turns to head off.

"Oh, before you go." Pitch's hand clutches on the messenger's arm. The grip looks loose, but he delicately tightens his fingers until the man is grunting uncomfortably. Pitch's dark eyes flash as he murmurs, "Next time, makes sure your boss comes _personally_ to deliver the information." A wet, pink tongue glides over his lips. "Or is Cuckoo too important of a man to meet with the _lowly_ Pitch Black himself?"

"N-no," the messenger stammers, unable to control his stutter, "Something important—Cuckoo will come next time—"

"See to it that he does."

Pitch smiles icily at the messenger, and before the man can draw in another breath, he's gone, seemingly melting into the shadows.

* * *

><p>A few streets away, unawares, Jack Frost draws his arms closer around his body and tries to ignore the freezing rain that drips down his neck and into his clothes. His coat is expensive (he's stolen it), but it's not waterproof, and the fur lining is damp and smelly. The houses are all dark, and there is only one window where the light peeks out from a grimy kitchen window. He's staring at that light, shivering fingers jammed into his pockets, and steels his nerves.<p>

He takes one, two, three steps up to the door, raps on the rotting wood, and waits.

"Hey," he greets quietly to the woman who opens.

"Jack." A sigh. "Come on in. You're late. She's asleep."

"Thanks."

He shakes off the rain, but doesn't take off his coat when he enters the house. He won't be staying long, anyway.

"Want something to drink?"

"No."

The woman turns to face him, and in the musty darkness, illuminated only by the glow of a bare bulb, her face drags down, tiny lines around her eyes that may have been invisible during the day suddenly thrown into sharp attention, and dark purple half moons are stamped under her eyes.

"Why so stressed?" Jack jokes. "Drei Schönheit aren't active. With the cash you make, you should be lounging around on a beach sipping cocktails, Cinderella."

Cinderella scoffs softly, folding her arms and leaning against the rickety wooden table. Her hair, strawberry blonde, frazzled and scooped up into a loose bun, seems to droop even lower as she exhales. "In your dreams, Jack. I still have a chain of restaurants to run and this house to take care of, and Snow White's _still _angry at Bunnymund for tipping off that Don about his poisoned soup, so I've been trying to do damage control for the past two weeks. Snow White is a _hurricane_ when her target's been taken away from her." She eyes Jack warily, blue eyes heated as she says, "It would have been the perfect assassination. Who paid you?"

Chuckling, Jack throws his most charming smile at her. "No one. Bunny just likes to fuck around. Besides, if that crime lord died, it would've been obvious that it was Snow. Bunny did you all a favour. Nobody wants a Don on their bad side, _especially_ from the Lunanoff Family."

Cinderella whitens, her mouth hangs open. "That was the _Lunanoff Family Don_?" Jack smirks, and Cinderella gives a disbelieving laugh, body relaxing. "Oh, god. No _wonder_. No _wonder_ the payment was so high. But the Lunanoff Don is almost never seen? How is it that he just randomly picks one of the most dangerous restaurants in the city to eat his cherry pie in? Surely he would know. He's the boss, after all."

Shrugging, Jack rolls his neck to work out the kinks. "Beats me. Now, make sure to say thanks to Bunny next time you see him, eh?"

"Yes, yes," Cinderella says liltingly. "I suppose I will."

Jack gives her a smile that's a little strained, and Cinderella softens. "I'll stop wasting your time, hm," Cinderella says, a tad gentler than she normally would. She jerks her head towards the stairs. "She's in the room second to the right. Old one started leaking at the roof, so we all had to do a bit of swapping around. Don't wake the other kids."

"Yes, Miss Warden," Jack jokes, and doesn't miss the way she rolls her eyes at him.

The floorboards creak, but it's masked by the rain outside, which has strengthened into a steady thrum. The room second to the right. Jack grasps the doorknob, and he has to jiggle it a little before it creaks open.

"Who's there?" The girl in the bed sits up warily, but upon seeing his face, she blinks and then whispers, "Jack."

"Hey," Jack says softly. He lets the door swing nearly to a close behind him. "I'm sorry I've been away so long, Clara."

"Four weeks and five days," Clara says, and her voice is crackled from sleep, but nonetheless he can still detect her grumpiness. He steps forward and draws her into a loose hug, but Clara tightens her arms around his waist, and he _oofs_ slightly. He sits at the foot of her bed, ruffling her hair when she whines that he's getting her sheets wet.

"Sorry, kiddo," Jack laughs weakly. "It's been busy at the shop. I'm sorry."

Clara's bright brown eyes search his face. "You've been fighting."

She knows. She always knows. Never mind that it's dark; Clara watches his steps and sees the way he winces when he sits, spots the slight swelling of his cheek and the faint shadows of a bruise along his knuckles, and she knows.

"I thought you were staying away from gangs," Clara says calmly. She's nineteen. She's not stupid. "You promised. On your honour as my big brother."

"I know, I know," Jack says, and he tries not to avoid her gaze. Doing so would make her more suspicious. "It was a scuffle. Nothing big."

Clara holds his eyes for a long time, and Jack forces himself not to fidget. Then, "If you say so," Clara allows. She draws her knees up to her chest, wisps of chestnut hair falling over her face.

"How's university?" Jack tries to change the subject. "Halfway through your first year. Are the classes hard? Have you had exams yet?"

"They're alright," Clara says quietly. "I still don't really know what I'm doing. I've made some good friends though, so it's alright, I guess." She purses her lips. And Jack knows that's she got a lot on her mind. It's silent for a few moments, and then she says in a rush, "What if I'm not sure if I want to be a teacher? What if I decide midway through that I like something else? Like, I don't know, I want to be a wine taster or something?"

"Then you drop the course, and take one up in wine tasting," Jack says easily. Clara snorts, but she smiles afterwards, and Jack musses her hair again. "Don't worry. Not everyone knows what they're doing. Just try your best, and see where it takes you."

"You're right," Clara says. She cocks her head. "Hey, how come your never went to uni?"

"Because I'm stupid as fuck," Jack chuckles.

Clara doesn't laugh, though. "You're not stupid," Clara insists, and Jack is shocked to see that she's upset. "You just… You were taking care of me."

"Clara…" Jack tries. But she turns away, and he knows that this issue has been eating at her for a long time now. Something settles in his stomach. "Hey, Clara. Look at me." When he has her attention, he smiles brightly and taps her nose. "I don't regret it. Not for one second."

And when Clara smiles hesitatingly back, he can see all the guilt and worry and pain he's caused her, and wishes that he could brush it all away.

"I'm fine, Clara," he reassures her. "You keep at your studies, I work, and together we can pay off your uni fees, yeah? Sounds like a good plan, I reckon."

"I still think I should take a job as well," Clara says, wrinkling her nose. "It's not fair to you. These are my fees, and—"

"And I'm perfectly capable, and very willing, to help pay them off for you," Jack interrupts. "Plus, you can return the favour later. I reckon once you have a job, you can pay for one of my vacations. How does that sound? Maybe I'll go to a nice resort somewhere, soak up a little sun. It's a dream, hm?"

Barking out a laugh, which Jack hurriedly shushes her lest she wakes her housemates, Clara replies cheekily, but still with a note of seriousness underneath, "I'll make sure it comes true, then."

When Jack descends the stairs a few minutes later, after giving Clara a pinky promise that he won't wait a month in between visits, he's surprised to see Cinderella still sitting at the dinner table, gazing off at the wall opposite.

"Hey, Ella," Jack says, and the woman tiredly turns towards him. "Get some sleep. You're exhausted."

"Snow White's coming home soon," Cinderella says. "I want to wait up for her."

Jack glances to the ceiling, where he knows that there are other teens sleeping, and wonders out loud, "Why did you take this house, Ella? It seems an awfully weird sort of side job for three girl gang members to run."

Cinderella takes so long to answer that Jack almost thinks she's fallen asleep, but then she says, "Someone needs to take these kids. I don't want them to live a life serving others simply because they were born into the wrong family. Snow White and Aurora think the same."

"So it's personal," Jack says.

"If you want to see it that way," Cinderella shrugs. "They're quite a pain to handle, though. Honestly, we've gotten a bunch of children with completely different personalities to each other, so much that they clash all the time. Happy, grumpy, sleepy… one's so bashful I really don't know how she copes through school without self-combusting from shyness. Then there's a boy who's got a list of allergies as long as he's tall and won't stop sneezing but we just _can't_ afford mediation. Another is studying so much for get _into_ medical school to become a doctor that once he's forgotten to eat for two days, and another who's the complete opposite and dopes herself up high on drugs and has been sent to hospital three times in the space two weeks."

But though Cinderella complains, Jack reads into the upwards turn of her lips, and the way she speaks so fondly, and he knows that she's content.

"Snow White is a much better mother, if we want to get technical," Jack says, and grins when Cinderella agrees with him.

"She's got the magic touch with these children," Cinderella continues, shaking her head.

Straightening from the slouch he's fallen into, Jack heads towards the door. "I'd better go, now," Jack says. He pauses, though, before heading out into the rain. "Quick question, Ella."

Cinderella raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"There's been some whispering around the lower circles. Word is that the Tremaine crime family were wiped out a few nights ago, and all evidence burned in a house fire. All of them dead. Even the Lady and her two Daughters." Jack tilts his head, and his voice is even when he asks, "Do you know anything about it? The Daughters were strong, and Lady Tremaine was powerful. It would have taken a lot of force to bring them down. Officially it was an accident; a spark caught in the kitchens. Unofficially, well, they say it was a lone attack. Revenge. Even the bodies were charred beyond recognition. It took dental work to figure out their identities. Everything was burned."

Jack catches the woman's eyes and continues slowly. "Only cinders were left, they say."

He can only see her silhouette, but Cinderella is very still when she murmurs, "What a terrible loss it is."

"Nobody liked the Tremaines," Jack laughs sarcastically. "Especially you, Ella."

"What are you insinuating?" Cinderella asks smoothly. "That I had something to do with it?"

"Oh, never," Jack says mockingly. "Just wanted to pass the info along to you, especially given your history with them."

"Well, thank you for that, Jack." Cinderella bares her teeth into a sweet smile. "It is hard news. I'm sure they must have suffered greatly in their final moments."

"Surely," Jack nods, and wipes invisible dust off his coat. His hand on the door, he says over his shoulder, "So, what's happened to Aurora? I haven't seen her around these days. She alright?"

"Jack," Cinderella says amusedly, and before he can react, she's suddenly too close, and she rests her hand lightly against his back. Something small and thin, but definitely very sharp, leans into his spine. Jack is forcibly reminded that though Cinderella has the appearance of a young twenty-three year old who couldn't possibly hurt a fly, she'd gained notoriety for having the most kills in the shortest amount of time during the War of the Centre Territories (Cinderella had assembled a grand total of one hundred and five bodies in five weeks). "You're a good friend, but first and foremost, you must remember that we are members from opposing gangs. There are certain things that unfortunately are classified, and if you were to find out, I'm sorry to say that Clara might soon be finding her big brother in several different trash cans."

"Alright, alright," Jack says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Forget I asked. Now could you please put your sharp weapon away? I mean, I love sharp weapons, just not against me."

She makes an annoyed sound and backs off. Jack saunters out, feeling the rain drumming down into his clothes again. Cinderella nods at him. "Good evening, Jack."

"Night, Ella," Jack says. He makes sure to hold Cinderella's gaze when he says, "You might want to cut me up into little pieces, but if you drag Clara into anything, if you lay a finger on her, I'll make sure that Crowns crush your livelihood, and I'll personally remove your voice box from your throat. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Cinderella says airily, and shuts the door in his face.

* * *

><p>Ange Noir<br>Temporary files  
>TO BE DESTROYED<p>

SEE ATTACHED PHOTO

Elsa Queen  
>21<br>162cm  
>H: blonde, E: blue<br>Student, SMC University  
>Bachelor of General Medicine<br>Affiliations: Red Crowns, medic  
>approx. 1 month<p>

Anna's brain almost short-circuits. Betrayal washes over her and lodges a lump in her throat. It's bitter and hot, and Anna first blinks back tears of anger, and then, after making sure she's alone in the room, begins to cry in despair.

_Why, Elsa? Why did you do this why did you take the job you're not supposed to be involved I did this so you wouldn't have to struggle I did this so we could pay back our debts why Elsa why the Crowns it's not safe it's not safe whywhywhywhy—_

* * *

><p>On the walk home, Jack passes by The Red Lily after sorting out a small fight in the back alleyways. He'd normally leave the teenagers to punch it out, but he knows that Clara will go this way the next morning to uni, and he doesn't want her spotting any potential bodies. Teens they may be, but they were from rival groups, and Jack recognises bloodlust when he sees it.<p>

A quick glance at his watch (also stolen) shows the time to be two minutes past midnight, which means that the staff inside would be packing up to close. He pushes open the door, and in a moment of foreign emotion, he thinks to himself _Ah, it feels like home_. He ponders the thought for a moment, but ultimately brushes it away. It's not important.

"Oh. Hello." Elsa stops in the middle of stacking up dirty plates. He hadn't even seen her; she's tiny when she bends down. Her face is shiny, her posture is drooping, but she offers him a slight smile, which he returns willingly. "Are you here on business, or…?"

"Nah," Jack says, waving a careless hand, "I'm here for food."

"I can hear a voice that I really don't want to hear," Shang grumbles from the kitchen entry. He enters the main room, releasing the top two buttons of his chef's uniform. He eyes Jack up and down. "Rough night? You look like you've been through a blender."

"Ugh," Jack recoils at the imagery. "No, just went and saw Cinderella, who almost stabbed me, and broke up a street fight, where I almost got stabbed as well."

Shang snickers. "Classic. Is she alright?"

Shang doesn't mean Cinderella, and Jack knows it. But for the sake of Clara's safety, they try not to mention her name at all. "She's good. Enjoying herself, I think, though she's still a bit nervous about it all."

"That's a relief," Shang says. _That's a relief. What a relief. It's a relief she isn't dead. It's a relief she won't be involved in this fuck up of a mess._

"And where's our dearest Ping?" Jack asks craftily. "She's usually here now. Gotta pick up her man from work, after all."

"Shut _up_," Shang groans. "I've told you—"

"_It's not like that_, yeah, yeah, you've repeated it more than enough times already," Jack says. He turns to Elsa and says with a wink, "Wanna bet that Shang and Ping will fuck by the end of the week?"

"Uh… not really."

"Seriously there's _nothing_ going on—"

"The sexual tension's been pretty high, lately. I always knew you had a thing for Ping doing a little bit of dress-up—"

"_Jack_—!"

"Why is it," whispers a low, velvety voice in his ear, "that every single time I see you, you're _always_ saying something that just _begs_ for your ass to be kicked. Every _single_ time, I swear."

"Ping," Jack says amicably, even as he feels the girl press her blade just a tad deeper into his neck. He feels the skin break. "I didn't even hear you come in. This is the third time tonight I've been threatened with a knife. What a trend."

"With your personality, I'm really not surprised," Ping sneers. She steps away from him and towards Shang. "Area's clear. We're good to go."

"They're not going off on a mission or anything." Jack catches the curious look Elsa throws at the pair. "This is just one of the weird things they do. They're super careful and all; Ping likes to check the perimeter of the restaurant as she goes in, looks for any ambushes or people following her, before picking up Shang like a cute little jellybean child and going home."

"You're really pushing your luck today," Shang hisses.

"You two live together?" Elsa asks interestedly. "That's cute."

"It's not—like _that_—" Shang splutters, and Ping just smiles calmly besides him as he flails for words.

Elsa shoots the chef a little smirk, and he gives her a look of his own. Elsa giggles at his theatrics, and she notes at the back of her mind how _nice_ all of this is. Together with people whom she really wouldn't consider _friends_ (well, maybe Shang) but the steps of it all, the banter and gentle teasing and laughter… Call her simple, but it's honestly all she's ever wanted.

"Hey," Jack says, and when she turns, there's a small smile playing on his lips, and his face is open and inviting and _not at all_ like the usual gang member Jack. But just—Jack. "I'll walk you home."

"Ah," Elsa says intelligently. "Um. Okay. Thank you."

They leave the restaurant at one o'clock, Jack patiently waiting for her to finish her job, even helping her clear the tables when she and the other waitress on duty struggle to balance the dishes. It's hours later than she would normally end her shift, but the restaurant has new times now, opening deeper into the night on Fridays and Saturdays for the partygoers who want cheap takeaway, mostly. There are, surprisingly, a lot of them.

The first part of the walk is spent lost in their own thoughts. Jack is running through the list of people in his head that he needs to follow up on this week. They're mainly his intel; he likes to employ the homeless citizens of Stella Morta to report back to him any info that may be important for him. The homeless are invisible, after all, and they pick up quite a lot of things. Jack pays them enough for their troubles, and they're more or less neutral towards gangs, so that's a bonus, too.

"Who's Cinderella?" Elsa asks out of the blue. Jack blinks at her, before recovering himself.

"Just a friend," Jack says. "She runs the dorm house on the west end of the city. She's a warden. Takes care of teens who've got nowhere to go."

"She sounds like a good person," Elsa says cautiously. When Jack doesn't answer, Elsa continues, "Or… I guess not."

"No one is ever completely good, or completely bad," Jack grins at her. "Remember that, Elsa."

Jack slows down a little to match her pace. She's so very twitchy, Jack thinks to himself. Every shadow has her jumping, every loud noise from a drunken passerby has her huddling closer to him. And rather than find it funny or endearing, Jack finds himself wondering _What happened to you? What made you this way?_

"So what did you think of the other night?" Jack asks conversationally, mostly to distract Elsa from her surroundings. It seems to work, as Elsa has to sort her thoughts for a couple of moments before answering. "The raid with Ping and the newbies… that's mostly what you'll be doing here. You won't be on the front lines."

"It's…" Elsa say slowly, "… Well, I can handle it."

"I know you can," Jack hums, "I asked what you thought of it."

Elsa struggles to come up with anything. Eventually, she settles with, "It was eye-opening. I hadn't realised they started so young. I mean, I _knew_, but it didn't click in my head until I saw it personally."

"Them?" Jack scoffs. "They're actually in the later age range. Average is thirteen years, to be honest."

"How about you?" Elsa blurts out, and she looks contrite immediately afterwards, as if she was afraid that she'd offended him.

"Twelve," Jack says casually. "It's no big deal. Some people are _born_ into this life. Poor souls."

"Poor souls," Elsa echoes strangely, as if it had struck a nerve.

There is an odd look on her face, one that's an awful mixture of resignation and regret and pain. Jack isn't sure what to make of it, and he isn't sure if he was even supposed to see it. So he pretends he didn't, and says instead, "Hey, wanna go for a drink?"

"Oh—uh—no, I have—my sister's at home waiting for me—it's best if I don't," Elsa says hastily, and Jack chuckles.

"You're working in the morning, right? It's almost two a.m. right now, and your shift's at eight. Your sister won't notice that you haven't been home all night." Jack is getting edgy; he hasn't had a drink in days, and he's aching for the buzz in his veins, to have his head clouded to the point where he doesn't have to think about anything. He doesn't know Elsa well enough, but she's a potential drinking companion, so she'll be enough.

"No, no, I really shouldn't—"

"I'll take you out for one drink, and then we'll head home, okay?"

Jack doesn't give her a chance to respond. He grabs her arm, and if Elsa squirms uncomfortably in his grasp, if a flash of fear crosses her face, Jack ignores it resolutely.

First and foremost, Jack is a street rat. And street rats fend for themselves.

* * *

><p>"Was that," Jack giggles into the wall, "your first time at a club?"<p>

"_Yes_," Elsa snaps at him, thoroughly harassed. "You said we'd leave after an hour. It's been _three_!"

"And you're _still _not drunk," Jack pouts to himself.

The pair are leaning against the wet walls of the alleyway just beside The Crimson Rose. Technically, Jack could just head upstairs and sleep it off in the VIP room. The Crimson Rose _does_ belong to the Crowns, after all, but dimly, in his drunken and befuddled state of mind, Jack remembers that he had promised to take Elsa home. He's not _that_ much of an asshole that he'd leave a girl to scale the city by herself at five in the morning. The sun doesn't rise until six-thirty.

"No," Elsa sniffs primly. "I didn't think it'd be wise."

"Well, I guess you're preeeeetttyyy smart," Jack drawls. He stumbles into her shoulder, and feels Elsa's breath leave her body in a short _whoosh_ as she tries to support his weight. "Come on, I'll take you to your smelly apartment."

He hears Elsa click her tongue, but doesn't make out anything other than a muttered "—annoying when drunk—"

They make it maybe three streets past The Crimson Rose before trouble strikes.

The figures are shadowy, but even in his inebriated state, he recognises the tattoos that adorn their wrists.

"Nightmares," Jack whispers, lips numb. He straightens stiffly, adrenaline starting to pulse through his blood.

There are six of them, appearing out of the shadows. They had been waiting.

It's an ambush, Jack realises. Exactly what Ping and Shang are cautious against. How fucking ironic.

The roads are empty at this hour, and only the moon is a silent witnesses to what happens below. Around them are dark shops and a food court. No help will come tonight.

Jack fumbles for the gun that's always stashed at his hip, but he's too slow. In the seconds before the first Nightmare strikes, he can hear Elsa's panicked breaths at his ear.

_We protect our own._

Isn't that just what Ping had told her a few nights ago? Jack isn't one for promises, but the words are heavy, and he finds himself suddenly mournful of the fact that he can't even do that. Can't even protect his own.

There's a solid blow to his head, and he dumbly registers Elsa being ripped away from him.

If he'd been sober, this would have been a different story.

But he isn't, and so his punches and kicks are pathetically thrown, and he's so drunk that he can't even really connect to the pain that he is feeling.

He doesn't know where Elsa is, can only focus stupidly on the blood that trickles down his nose, can only taste the familiar tang of copper in his mouth. He's probably bitten his own tongue.

He's so stupid.

This isn't how I die, Jack thinks belatedly. No. I refuse. I have shit to do. _This is not how I die._

And then one final blow, and he blacks out.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

omgggg so that was a long time coming. no but ok so _finally_ in the next chapter there will be jelsa development yayayay that's what y'all have been waiting for ayyyyyy. this chapter is basically to bring together all the loose plot points and so now we can get a move on with the overall plot as well.

headcannon that merida is bi. (i previously used 'gay' as an umbrella term, but anon user TOWMNBN pointed out it should've been lesbian, and seeing as both those terms aren't as accurate as i would like (bc honestly i _do _see merida as bi), i just changed the whole thing haha. apologies if it offended anybody, and thanks for the point out.)

i also got attached to cinderella oh no.

did anyone get my hugely obvious 7 dwarves reference? idkkkkk HAHAHA.

sometimes i need to remind myself that this story is jelsa and that's what people are reading it for. ho hum.

**kuro-d **on tumblr did fanart based on the previous chapter and my heart melted bc the sandbuntooth trio are _precious _as children. unfortunately i can't seem to post the link on my profile (this is an annoying problem that i've been having for a while) so be sure to check out her blog. she's got many beautiful fanarts so it'll be enjoyable anyway to sift through her pieces ehehe.

wtf even is a bachelor of general medicine. who knows. certainly not i, the author, who made it up because she can't remember exactly what the process is to become a doctor and can't be bothered looking it up.

updated: 25 August 2015


	11. Trigger

warning: description of a triggering flashback which is similar to a panic attack, from elsa as a victim of rape. if you don't want to read, it begins at **'Elsa is breathing loudly beside him'**, and you can skip to **'"It's Jack," he tells her'**.

**chapter eleven: trigger**

* * *

><p>(I thrive in the night.)<p>

Jack wakes up to darkness.

For a second, he panics.

_I'm blind, _Jack thinks with terror. He can handle anything, _anything_, except this. He can handle broken bones and split flesh and dying friends. But not this, he can't handle this.

But then his eyes adjust, and he makes out the blurry shadows of what looks to be crates and containers, and then the fuzzy outline of his own hand. The memories come back slowly.

There were Nightmares, he'd been drunk, they were ambushed, Elsa had been clutched close to him, Elsa–

"Elsa!" Jack whispers. He fumbles, and then grasps something soft and warm. An arm.

There's a gentle hiss of pain next to him, and then a soft, "Jack?"

Elsa sits up, sways, holding her head. He can vaguely see dried blood crusting her temple, but she's otherwise unharmed.

"Where are we?" Elsa mumbles. Jack staggers to his feet, feeling his way around. There's not much room. They appear to be in a closed off container with stacks and stacks of boxes around them.

"Oh," Jack says, recognising the layout with dread. "We're in a shipping container."

A quick glance at the labels stamped on the boxes show them to be filled with clocks, on the way to department stores across the globe. There is only one sliver of light coming from a crack far above them, but Jack is sure that that would be sealed up in no time. His stomach drops.

Elsa is breathing loudly beside him, and fear drips from her quivering frame, in the way she curls her fingers into the sleeves of his coat.

"Jack," Elsa says, her voice is wavering, "Jack, what do we do? I–I–I can't–it's dark. Jack, I don't like the dark – Jack, it's not–I can't– the man hurt me in the dark–"

Alarm bells go off in his head.

"Okay," Jack says soothingly. He turns to face her head on, trying to maintain eye contact even though he can barely see, tries to look at where her face floats, pale and oval in the gloom. Her teeth chatter maraca-like, her lips trembling to the beat. "Here's what we're going to do, okay? Elsa, I want you to focus only on me, okay? Focus just on me. Breathe with me. Elsa, do you know what's going on? Is there are reason why you're so afraid, apart from the obvious?"

"F-flashback?" Elsa manages to stutter out. Her grip on his wrist tightens to the point of it being painful, but Jack hardly notices. "I've only had one–before, but–I'm not sure–because it was gold teeth, J-Jack, _Gold_ _Teeth_–"

"Okay, so you've had one before. There's no gold teeth here, Elsa, it's alright," Jack says, feeling himself babble. He doesn't know what to do; he doesn't know about gold teeth or men in the dark or flashbacks. But he does know panic attacks, which is not the same, but that's all he's got. Bunnymund used to have them a lot. He'd watched Toothiana calm him down enough times to roughly know what to do.

But then again, this is _Elsa_. Not Bunnymund.

"Okay, Elsa. What do you need? Is there anything you need? What can I do?"

"Anna," Elsa forces out. "Anna, I need my sister. Where is she? Is she safe?"

"She's completely safe," Jack lies. "She's fine. She's at home. And you can go home too, alright? You'll be fine, just breathe as I breathe, I'm proud of you."

But Jack makes the mistake of lowering his hand onto hers, and Elsa recoils so fast he's sure she's got whiplash. She retreats into a corner, scrambling on top of a box to put some distance between them.

"Elsa, I'm sorry, I won't touch you again," Jack says calmly, but his own hands are shaking now. Elsa is a cornered animal.

"Elsa, breathe with me. Watch me. Focus only on me, okay?"

But Elsa's sweating profusely now; he felt the clamminess of her hand, and he's sure her pupils are blown wide. Jack steps closer, afraid she'll tumble off.

"Elsa–"

But then he's cut short as Elsa begins to emit a high-pitched keening sound, and she does a full-body spasm. Jack lurches forward to catch her as she falls, and her nails dig into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, and then she's gasping, as if her throat is half closed, as if her lungs have collapsed inside.

(She can't breathe shecan't breathe I ca_n't __**breatheIcan'tbreathe ICAN'TBREATH I CAN'TBREATHE**__–_)

"Elsa, you're not there, you're _not there_–"

(There's a hand around her throat and it's squeezing so tightly she thinks she might break, she thinks the bones of her neck might snap, just like her pelvis is snapping and _fire_ her body _is on fire_ and there is _blood and wet, guttural grunts and the click and glimmer of gold teeth but she can't see she can't see she can't see because it's __**dark and here here here is where I am strongestIAMFEAR**_–)

She's screaming, she's screaming and Jack is holding her down because she's knocked off a tower of boxes and she's struck out at him, scratched his cheek in her flailing, and he can feel her heart hammering against her ribs, and it feels like it might just hammer out of her chest.

"Get off!" Elsa howls. "Get off get off _get off_–"

And Jack wants to let her go, because the desperation in her voice is too palpable, because she's terrified, because he knows this, recognises this, understands this fear.

But she would end up cracking her head against the crates; the space is too cramped. So he holds her in a tight hug, keeps her arms pinned to her sides while she cries and weeps and all he can say is, "This is Jack this is Jack this is Jack–"

It lasts for forever, almost. Jack can't even bear to think of how long it's been in Elsa's head. When her struggles begin to die down, he starts to count softly, calmly, backwards from one hundred, and by the time he's reached fifteen, Elsa is limp in his grasp, sucking in shallow breaths. The sweat has cooled, and she's shivering.

"It's Jack," he tells her, when the last number disappears from his lips. "It's Jack, it's Jack."

She pushes weakly against his chest, and finally, he releases her. She crawls away from him, her legs no longer working, curls up on her side, and she stares off over his head, far, far away.

In that moment, Jack is quite sure that she doesn't know who he is.

* * *

><p>In this sort of thing, I am the only one present. Loneliness and Fear, after all, reigns above everything else.<p>

I'll go onto a bit of a tangent, here. It's really quite fascinating, the number of different characters that Jack Frost meets throughout his life. I'll take you back a few years, when Jack is somewhere just past the start of his criminal journey.

So once, when he'd just joined the Red Crowns a few days after he'd turned twelve, he remembers waking up to bloodcurdling shrieks that echoed around the rundown house that he'd shared with some other younger gang members.

"It's Bunnymund," says a girl who occupies in the bed next to him. She blinks big blue eyes, and in the waning moonlight the bright red of her hair had darkened until it looks like day-old blood. She's actually the temporary caretaker, as their previous one had been injured in an earlier drive-by shooting. Jack guesses her to be around eighteen. "He does this a lot."

"What, scream?" Jack croaks. The sounds hadn't stopped, but the other residents just sigh and turn in their blankets.

"Yeah," the girl shrugs. "It's pretty common around here, actually. The nightmares."

"Do you have nightmares?" Jack asks curiously, no longer drowsy in the wake of new potential information on this strange group that he's now a part of. "Have you killed people?"

"Haven't you?" the girl laughs. "It's part of the initiation ceremony."

Biting his lips, Jack glances to the side. He'd rather forget, to be honest. He'd rather forget the eyes.

"Yeah, but–"

_It wasn't personal._

"Sure," the girl continues, sensing that he wouldn't answer her question. "But they don't really bother me. They're just dreams."

"Yeah," Jack murmurs.

The screams stop. The house falls quiet again.

"I'm Ariel, by the way," the girl says, holding out a milky-white hand. Jack shakes it, not sure if he really likes her or not. There's something different about her, the way her cold eyes glint like those of a dead fish, her spidery fingers that hold on just a little too tightly. She grins. "How did your initiation go?"

"I passed," Jack says, intentionally blank.

"How did you kill them?" Ariel is interested now, and Jack just wants to go back to sleep. Back to where he doesn't need to kill or steal or hurt to survive.

Instead, he just makes a noncommittal sound and slumps back down onto his bed. Only the crickets chirp in the humid night, and Jack hears Ariel shuffle beside him. He thinks she's fallen asleep, until she speaks again, her voice soft as waves against the sand.

"I drowned him," Ariel whispers. "Two years ago, my initiation. Dragged the asshole to the bottom of the pool and left him there with his feet cut apart."

"Why?"

(Why, as in, why did you kill him that way? Why did you let him suffer like that?

The days leading up to Ariel's initiation were filled with not only myself, but also Love's lingering presence. I don't quite understand the heartbreak, but I understand the pain.)

"I sacrificed my legs for that man," Ariel says, even quieter, even sadder. Jack thinks back to the first time he sees her, remembers the scars that decorate Ariel's calves and heels and soles of her feet. "I walked on glass for him, left my family. I did _everything_ for him."

"I'm sorry."

Beside Ariel's bedside, Love weeps and clutches at her heart, and I sit myself in the space between their beds.

The following year, Jack begins to have nightmares too.

* * *

><p>"There's been no information, ma'am," Hook Hand says, not daring to raise his face to meet the amethyst eyes of his superior. "All other gangs are denying their involvement, and even Ange Noir says they didn't do it."<p>

"It must be them." The room is so icy that Hook Hand doesn't even draw breath, lest his throat is torn apart. "Either the Angels are looking to get their wings ripped off for being so _cocky_ as to kidnap one of _our own_, or it's the Pride. Scar's being itching to get his claws on Jack, and he's crazy enough to try."

When Toothiana is angry, she quietens down. It's frightening. Whereas others would blow up and cause a scene, Toothiana retreats into herself, until her rage is contained into a tight, hot ball in her chest. But her presence grows tenfold, and the perimeter around her immediate body is evacuated quickly.

When Toothiana is angry, she speaks so softly that her listeners have to strain to hear, and yet one message is clear: she will kill anyone in her way.

When Toothiana is angry, she is unstoppable.

And now one of her own is gone. He's gone, as well as the girl who wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place.

Hook Hand scurries out of the room before Toothiana can decide whether to kill him or not for his lack of new intel, and even Bunnymund is hesitating at the door.

"Check the area where Jack disappeared," Toothiana says, before the man can escape. He freezes, and then sighs. She faces the window, out to where the lone moon hangs in the sky. One or two stars flicker weakly, the rest swallowed up by light pollution.

"We've checked it everyday for the past week," Bunnymund says wearily. "No one's come forth to claim it. If it was the Angels, they would have made it obvious. It's not them, Tooth. They don't have enough manpower to fund a war. We both know that."

"Then what," Toothiana says slowly, as if Bunnymund is the stupidest thing on this Earth, "do you propose we do? Wait until Jack's body is floating down the river? Wait until a bag is delivered at our door with the head of the newbie medic? Fuck, Bunny, I'm not messing around until then."

Bunnymund stares at her for a very long time. Toothiana doesn't meet his gaze.

"You said," Bunnymund murmurs finally, "that when we started this life, we wouldn't get attached. That's what we promised."

"The Red Crowns is family," Toothiana says simply. "Things change."

"We're family," Bunnymund corrects. "I'm family, you're family, Jack is family, Sandy is family. Not the others."

"Sandy disappeared ten years ago and hasn't been heard from since," Toothiana says bitterly.

"He's still family, and you know why he's gone."

Toothiana swallows, and the ball in her chest makes it hard for her to think.

"It's Pitchiner," Toothiana says numbly, changing the subject. Bunnymund sucks in sharply. "If not Ange Noir, if not the Pride, then it's Pitchiner."

"He's already gotten what he wanted, though," Bunnymund says, furrowing his brows. "It's been years; he's settled his score. He didn't get Sandy, so."

The sentence is left hanging.

"So he went for Baby T," Toothiana finishes for him, ignoring Bunnymund's flinch. She has no qualms saying the name. The old wound pricks open, but Toothiana feels that she deserves this. She has resigned herself to suffer for eternity, for letting the unthinkable happen.

"Alright, say it's Pitch," Bunnymund says, trying to pull Toothiana from her thoughts. He's humouring her. "Why would he draw so much attention to himself when before he's been lying so low that people have almost forgotten about him? He caused the roof collapse, which honestly had no benefits to him whatsoever, because all it did was spark tension and kill some small fry. Then there are reports of him meeting up with people from no-name gangs."

"Perhaps he's trying to get allies," Toothiana says. Her brain is working, she's trying to connect the dots; Baby T fades away. "He's got the money to start a war, but not the manpower."

"Do you think he's trying to get territory?"

"Both," Toothiana reads between the lines. "He wants territory, and he's trying to settle a personal grudge. But why wreck havoc on the Assemblea? Why not just go straight for us?"

"Turning all the gangs against you is generally a bad way to do things," Bunnymund says. He's pacing now, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Toothiana watches the way his steps burn into the carpet. "Unless…"

"Unless he's working against–no, unless he's working _with_ someone–unless someone… ugh," Toothiana rakes a hand through her hair. She's close to something, she _knows _it.

"Okay, let's step back and look at the big picture," Bunnymund says. "So we know that Pitch definitely is connected to the roof collapse. The roof collapse itself put all the Kings and Queens in danger. So he knows that everyone would turn against him. _However_, he _knows _that the only gangs powerful enough to go against him are us and the Angels. And even then, we _don't_ have _enough_."

"He was counting on us to do it anyway," Toothiana says, speaking quickly. "He was counting on us to retaliate in some way. And since he knows that we refuse any contact with each other except to kill, he was hoping that we and the Angels get caught in crossfire and wipe each other out."

"It was a miscalculation, though. Our signatures moves have changed over the years. We specialise in guerrilla warfare now, whereas before we would just go for the traditional shootout. Ange Noir likes their snipers, so we ended up extracting revenge our own ways, without harming the other."

"So, what? He's doing this to stir shit up, make us kill ourselves, and then swoop in on our territory?"

"We can go with that theory for now," Toothiana decides. "But then, Pitch didn't do a very good job, did he? If it was to work, he should have framed Ange Noir properly."

As if on cue, as soon as she finished speaking, the door bursts open again, Hook Hand reappearing with wide eyes and heaving breaths; he had just run back up the stairs.

"Ange Noir claimed Mister Jack Frost's capture," Hook Hand says. "There's a dead dove dangling from the traffic light on the street where he was taken."

"And has Ange Noir responded to this statement in any other way?" Toothiana asks almost idly, though her fingers are on her pistol.

"One of their reps showed up to reiterate that it wasn't them. Says they're being framed."

"Well there you go," Bunnymund says lightly, resting a hand on Toothiana's shoulder. "Now everything's fallen into place."

* * *

><p>Across the city, there's another girl who's on the verge of tipping over the edge. Unlike Toothiana, however, her emotions are without question. Also unlike Toothiana, she can't tell anyone about it.<p>

"Goddamnit," Anna hisses, throwing a stack of papers across the room just as the door opens, and it smacks into Hans' face as he peeks through.

"Ow! What the–?"

"What do you want?" Anna barks instead of apologising. She stalks over to her beaten down laptop and throw open the cover roughly, intending on surfing the online forums to see if there is any new information on missing persons.

(Elsa hadn't been home in eight days, and Anna had secretly gotten in touch with Hiro Hamada from Hero's 6 to hack into the police database for intel on Elsa Queen. She'd filed a police report earlier in her desperation, and Hiro had told her in passing that though it had been lodged, nothing else had been done about it.

In retaliation, she'd asked him to wipe out half of the police database in a moment of blind rage.

"We'll keep our ears out," Hiro had promised Anna. "She's your sister, right? I get it. If anything happened to Tadashi, I'd get revenge too."

"I trust you not to leak her relationship with me to anyone, right?"

Hiro had snorted. "Who do you think we are, Summer Witch? The world runs on money." He then smiled slyly at her. "No guarantees."

And so Hiro Hamada had walked away with pockets considerably fuller than before, and a vague "We won't tell, but people aren't dumb. They have _eyes_.")

"Why are you so worked up?" Hans sighed. "I swear, girls–"

"If you say anything about periods, I'll end you right here and now," Anna says quietly, not even bothering to hide the gun that she's begun to play with. The safety clicks on, and then off. Hans puts his hands up in surrender and takes a seat beside her.

"Okay," Hans says. "Then what's wrong?"

Here's the thing: Anna doesn't trust Hans. She trusts him like a mouse might trust a cat not to eat it. She trusts him like she'd trust a shark around blood.

Hans wears his tattoo on the odd junction between his arm and the back of his hand, so that the sleeves of his shirt is always half covering it. Anna has always found this strange, unsettling, in some way. Her gut still clenches uncomfortably whenever he's around. She well remembers the flirting and the small presents and wooing, thought nothing of it; she wasn't interested. But then–

_Wanna date? _Hans' smile was slow. Anna had looked back, almost turned her nose up at him.

_Sure._

Sure, because that day, Hans held a rose in one hand, and a knife in the other. _Cut if off the bush over there. Seemed a shame to let them wither. Everyone knows the old lady's dead inside anyway; just need to discover her body._

Anna knows what the mothers say. She knows what her neighbours think.

_Eighteen and twenty-four. Might as well be her sugar daddy._

But it doesn't matter, because there is something wrong with Hans, and if dating is the way to keep him close, then she's willing to do that.

_You have any siblings? You planning to go to university? Oh? An older sibling? Who is she? I'd like to meet her. What's her name_–

Too many questions. Hans is too suspicious. He may be high-ranking now, but Anna will not allow him to roam free. He is too interested in Elsa.

"Nothing's wrong," Anna responds irritably. "Just a bad day."

_My sister might be dead before the weekend._

"Well, the Crowns still haven't found the Spirit or their new medic. They're going to destroy the city."

Anna fights back the flinch. She _knows._

Two hours till midnight, four nights ago, the Red Crowns had torn up the night sky in a flurry of gunshots that had echoed like fireworks but without the lights, as each member of the gang had fired one shot towards the clouds. There had been the tell-tale sound of Toothiana's distinct pistol shots, which had continued blasting up at the sky well after the original ones had finished. This was the Red Crowns way of declaring war. This was their way of telling the city that they were out for blood.

"Has the dove been removed?" Anna asks, snaking out of the arm that Hans tries to put around her waist.

"Yes. The lower gang members are spooked, but the Red Crowns aren't pursuing us as strongly as I thought they would."

"That's because the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny knows it wasn't us who took them," Anna says. "Won't stop their lesser members though. Make sure our men don't do anything rash. This is a new situation, after all."

"What, bein' framed?" A new voice pipes in. Merida gives them a wan smile as she enters, picking her way past the fallen papers and collapsing onto a stool. She's unusually sombre today, evidently having picked up the mood. The sniper looks exhausted, and she massages her wrists gingerly. "Went too hard at the range earlier," Merida tells them.

"Anything new?"

"No. The Olympians and the Pride are being stubbornly neutral in this. I doubt we'll be able to sway them onto our side if anything happens."

"Who do you think got the Spirit, anyway?" Hans muses. "He's third in command, he's strong. He's got enemies, but none stupid enough to outright take him down."

"And why'd the medic get taken too?" Merida joins in. She loves conspiracy theories, and this is the next best thing. "No one gives a fuck about a medic."

"Wrong place, wrong time," Anna says hollowly. She's feeling sick. "Merida, is there anything new you can tell me? What about Aladdin and Jasmine?"

Kicking back, Merida begins to idly braid a strand of frizzy red curls. "Not really. Jasmine is too good at avoiding the subject of her Sandman tattoo, and I right suspect that Al's got it bad for her. I might take him off; he's so head over heels I swear he's gonna try and elope with her or some shit."

"We've got the payments for the Don?" Anna presses. There are too many things on her plate, too many things to keep track of, and though she is completely willing to pass all her responsibilities off to Hans while she searches for Elsa, she knows that can't draw attention to herself like that. So she snoops around in secret, pulling connections, old friends, to see if there is _anything_ _at all_.

"All set and ready for his next visit," Merida says. She stands to go, but then turns back once more to look at Anna. There's a glint in her eye and the slice of a dagger in her next words. "You know, the Crown's medic," Merida begins casually, and Anna tenses imperceptibly. She feels Hans glance at her. "I dunno… she kinda looks like you."

And when the door swings shut, Hans is humming beside her, and then he nods. "She does."

His gaze is trained on the photo attached to the file that Anna _should _have destroyed when she had the chance. The file with information on new members from various gangs. Because he's looking again with fresh eyes, and there's no mistaking it. There's a reason why only Hans and Facilier know her last name.

"You guys are both Queens, right? You look like sisters."

* * *

><p>They've been in darkness for so long, Elsa can't keep track anymore. She used to be able to roughly gauge the days according to the tiny sliver of sunlight in the corner, but there had been storms, and it had been black for a long, long time.<p>

They had not spoken about her breakdown. When she comes to, Jack simply hands her his coat and sits beside her and tells her about his younger sister.

"Her name's Clara," Jack says. If she could see his face, she's sure he'd be smiling. "My mother liked The Nutcracker ballet."

"How old is she?" Elsa asks, picking at the sticker on a box. Jack had gone around the container several times already, but found nothing that could help them escape. The door is bolted shut on the outside, and they'd shouted until their voices had grown hoarse, but still no answer. The only good thing is that it doesn't feel like they're on a ship, so they should still be on the ports of Stella Morta.

"Started her first year of university this year," Jack says. There's pride in his voice.

"What does your mother do?"

"She's dead. Before that, she was a hooker, I guess. Not really sure. Sort of figured it out as I grew older." Jack is casual about it. Then, he adds, "I don't miss her though. As a mother, she was one of the worst. I hated her."

"Oh."

Elsa doesn't know what to say, so she just huddles closer for warmth. Jack smells like blood, and his coat gives off the unpleasant scent of wet dog, but it grounds her in the present.

"Why are we here?"

She hates how frail she sounds, but she can't bring herself to change it. She just wants to go home. She's tired and hungry, and she feels like she's gone blind. Yesterday, the container door had opened and a bag of food had been thrown inside. Both she and Jack had been too exhausted and weak to react, so by the time Jack had stumbled to his feet and rushed to the door, it had slammed shut in his face, and the bolt outside was drawn across again.

"Probably something I did," Jack says wryly. He nudges her. "Sorry I got you dragged into this, though."

Squinting up at him, Elsa tries to decide whether or not the apology is really sincere though. Finally, she thinks she doesn't care.

"If we get out of here," Elsa mumbles, "I'm leaving this city with Anna. Not even gonna look back."

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say," Jack chuckles grimly.

Scufflings noises outside draw Jack to his feet again, and Elsa cowers on the ground. Both of them face the direction of the door.

"More food?" Elsa whispers.

"No," Jack murmurs back. "Too soon. They'll be wanting one of us."

And they do. The door opens and a figure steps in, but though Jack tries to gets his hands around the man's throat, he's thrown to the ground.

"You're the Spirit," the man says silkily, daintily wiping his feet on Jack's heaving chest. "Come along, Mister Pitchiner wants to see you."

"Pitchiner?" Elsa hears Jack choke out through bloody teeth. "Emily–?"

And then Jack is dragged out, and Elsa is left alone with silence and darkness (and me).

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

THERE. IS. PLOT.

good news. the next few chapters should have a bit of a faster and more consistent update. extremely sorry for the wait. we're about halfway through the story now.

updated: 23 november 2015


	12. Funny Bone

"more consistent updates" lol i fucking lied I'm sorry. what rly motivated me to get this chapter done was the last couple of reviews omg I felt so terrible after four months of not updating. thank u kindly to the anon who pushed the reviews into the 300s! and thank for all the ppl who review every chapter, no matter how far along i update. bless ur beautiful souls.

this is so awkward bc i thought Pitchiner was the most obvious character ever but apparently no one got it aha ha haaaa.

chapter twelve: funny bone

* * *

><p>Jack can smell the sea.<p>

He's always hated the sea. No particular reason why, just that the salt-brine and the waves and the sound of screaming seagulls is one of the most unappealing things to him. The docks that his captives take him through is swarming with workers despite the hour being close to one in the morning. He's not blindfolded or anything, and the state of his bedraggled appearance, stick bones and gaunt cheeks, don't faze any of the men rushing around. A thin, gleaming blade is pressed into the small of his back by one of his captors, hidden by long, thick sleeves.

There are four men flanking him, one in front, one on each side, and the last one with the knife. Jack can tell instantly that he can't overpower them; they're strong and sturdy, and he's days weak from malnutrition and darkness, and even if he could escape their clutches, he doesn't know where Elsa is and he can't leave her behind. The surrounding shipping containers are like a maze and he's been taken through too many twists and turns.

His left arm is aching. Earlier on, his captors had implanted a tracker into him, shooting it into the soft flesh as if it were jelly. Jack had roared and twisted (_"I'm not an animal! Don't you dare put that thing in me!"_) but they'd held him down anyway. ("It's some new technology we bought from the city over," his captors say, "gotta test it on someone, right? We're thinking of selling it to the Ange Noir for their brothels, y'know, 'cause their girls are always _running_.")

"Pitchiner, did you say?" Jack's voice is raspy. "What does he want with me?"

The one in front turns back to smile at him. His skin is pickled with scars and sunken eyes. He's got a crooked nose and unusually sharp canines, eyes gleaming almost yellow in the moonlight.

"Boss just wants to have a little chat," the man says, lips stretching into an uncomfortably wide grin. "Just a nice little chat."

"Ah, Mr. Fearling," Jack greets him. "I see you've kept that broken nose I gave you, eh? Suits ya."

The Fearling clicks his teeth. "Quiet, Spirit, before I rip your throat out." His pace quickens. "But I'll let the Boss do that, hm? You've caused him a lot of trouble; this _chat_ is years coming."

"Ah," Jack says out loud. His expression clears, and his smile is straight acid from the vial. "So it _is_ about her." A pause. "It's been a long time."

Kozmotis Pitchiner. Ex-police detective. Also known as Pitch Black. Also known as the Nightmare King. Also known as the Boogeyman. Also known as leader of the richest gang of Stella Morta. Also known as the father to _Miss Emily Jane Pitchiner, deceased, fifteen years old, gunshot wound to the heart, straight through the right atrium, four suspects arrested_–Toothiana Haroom-Rashmi, Bunnymund E. Aster, Sanderson Mansnoozie, Jackson O. Frost–_Say, Emily, wanna go out? Come on, please? It'll be fun! I've liked ya for a long while now, Em_–My god, they're just kids–_Please, I don't know them! I don't know them! I don't know_ _what happened_–

His head tilts back as memories rise up from a vault locked dusty and deep in his mind.

"It's been a right long while."

* * *

><p>Now, you gotta listen to me. You gotta listen close, otherwise nothing of this will make much sense. The story that surrounds the chance meeting of Jack and the trio Toothiana, Bunnymund and Sandy has been kept under wraps for so long that rumours have run wild and the legends have kept growing taller. But the way they meet is deceptively simply. It involves:<p>

1. A smoking gun

2. Five teenagers

3. And one of them is dead

So you wanna guess? Guess the one holding the gun, and guess the one that's lying in a puddle of blood in a backend street with a powder pink dress spattered in guts and regret, and guess the one cowering, wild eyes and rapid fire heart; guess the one chanting a name like a prayer–

–_case closed, detective! Excellent work – You've put so many criminals behind bars–I hereby announce Kozmotis Pitchiner as Chief of Police–_Toothiana, put it down, Toothiana, Toothiana, put the gun down–No, sir, I swear I don't know them, I don't know what happened–_Her name isn't important, but her old man _is_–send him a message–he's messed with too many of our own– _

So listen close, human. Let me tell you a Story.

* * *

><p>The door is a black hole and Jack steps inside willingly. They've entered another shipping container, but this one is clean and dry, a bare bulb illuminating the sallow face of Pitch Black as he rests comfortably on a three-legged stool. The men shove Jack inside (the Fearling gives him an infuriating little small and cocky wave), and then he and Pitch are alone. Jack isn't tied up, and he surveys the small space where he's now standing. The door is closed behind him, but not locked. Pitch doesn't appear to be carrying any weapons, but Jack doesn't trust the deep billowing depths of his coat.<p>

"It's a wonderful evening, isn't it?" Pitch says warmly. The dim light casts a greyish tint to his face; he looks like a shark. Pitch smiles. "Even better considering that I've caught myself a Spirit; I hear they bring good luck."

Jack smiles back, all canine and feral. "Depends on what kind you caught. Now mind telling me what the fuck you want from me?"

"You've always been eloquent," Pitch sneers. He cocks his head, gets up from the stool. "I'd just like to talk, Jack. A little talk, nothing more, about me and you."

"Is this about Emily?" Jack asks softly. Pitch shows no reaction, but his smile grows a little bigger. "She's been dead six years," Jack says calmly, "this is a long time for revenge."

"A father's pain never truly goes away," Pitch replies. The light bulb is swinging and the shadows are dancing oddly across his face. Jack can smell a storm in the air, coming in from the sea. "But that is neither here nor there. I want to talk about your friends the Tooth Fairy and the Sandman."

Jack blinks. "No."

"Come now, Spirit," Pitch croons. He gets up and begins slowly pacing. "I've still got that girl locked up god knows where. Surely you don't want her to lose a limb?"

"She'll live," Jack says, not unfeelingly. "It'll be bad, but I'd rather that than sell out the Tooth Fairy. We protect our own."

Pitch sighs. "As expected of a Red Crown dog." He stops and he leers even wider, teeth white against his face, and says in a hushed voice, "No respect for lives, Mr. Spirit. Not even your mother's."

There's a short silence, and then Jack speaks out of nowhere, voice surprisingly even, "Yes, and your daughter deserved to die."

There's no hesitation in the way Pitch cracks an elbow into Jack's face. Jack gasps, head snapping back before coming forwards again, bright red now streaming from both nostrils.

"That was cruel, _Jackson Frost_, even for you," Pitch says, chest heaving and grey eyes burning bright with rage.

Jack laughs right into his face, through bloody teeth and a crooked nose. "What, does it hurt to say my name? Does it remind you of your precious Emily Jane? Did–"

He's cut off again by Pitch kicking him right in the stomach, and as he tumbles into the crates by the side, Jack thinks to himself, _This is it, you're done for,_ but he doesn't feel anything. No regret or sadness, just a vindictive pleasure in seeing Pitch lose control.

"Emily Jane was _innocent_!" Pitch howls, and he prepares to hit Jack again. Jack closes his eyes, waits for new pain to came, but when he opens them again, Pitch had lowered his fist.

It's hard to describe the emotions flickering across the man's face. A mixture of disbelief and fury, and age-old agonising regret.

"It's fine," Pitch says finally, when Jack breaks eye contact first. He's smiling strangely again. "So please, just let me double check. Little Miss Clara Frost. She's usually safe in her bed at this time, right?"

Cold blood runs through Jack's veins. It's gotten hard to breathe.

"Cinderella is an excellent warden, and even better leader, but even she can't protect ten rambling teenagers all at once," Pitch continues. "Particularly with Aurora out of town and Snow White weak with fever. How perfect–"

Jack sees red. He moves in an instant, both hands closing over Pitch's slim throat, feels his trachea collapsing underneath his fingers. But Pitch _still smiles_ and he _won't stop smiling_–

"What have you _done_," Jack hisses. Pitch gurgles something, face tinged with blue, and Jack releases his hands minutely in order to hear what he has to say.

"Tell me where the Sandman is and perhaps Clara will leave with her right hand, at least–no promises about her left though," Pitch wheezes, and this time he's the one laughing and laughing and laughing.

Jack releases the man and spins on his heels. He's about to leave right then and there, about to yank open the door and run back towards the main city, when Pitch says, "I can call it off right now. My men have not attacked the house yet. Tell me where the Sandman is, and nothing will happen to your baby sister."

"The Sandman is _dead_," Jack rasps out. His head is spinning and he feels nauseous. The short exertion has left his malnourished body shaking.

"You and I both know that's a lie," Pitch says. He massages his throat, where bruises are already springing up on his pale flesh.

"Doesn't matter. Even if he's alive, I don't know where he is or what's happened to him," Jack insists, trying to just breathe in and out and calm his heart.

Pitch clicks his tongue as if Jack were a particularly stupid child.

"Then why don't you tell me," and before Jack can react, Pitch has swooped in uncomfortably close and a gun is pressed cold to Jack's temple (_Ah, so he _was _hiding a weapon somewhere_, Jack thinks dazedly), "where Mim is, _Nightlight_?"

* * *

><p>STATISTICS<p>

Name: unknown  
>Alias: Man in Moon, Mim<br>Title: none  
>Position: Leader, Don<br>Affiliations: Red Crowns  
>Whereabouts: unknown<br>Last seen: all records deleted

* * *

><p>Name: Jackson Overland Frost<br>Alias: Spirit  
>Position: second in command<br>Affiliations: Red Crowns  
>Special notes: NIGHTLIGHT?, the DON'S BODYGUARD?<p>

* * *

><p>Rapunzel hopes for a nice, quick death. She thinks maybe poison, or a bullet right into the head. Certainly not like this, crouching knee-deep in mud, smelling vaguely of dog shit and burritos. This is honestly all Flynn fucking Rider's fault, and she makes sure to tell him that.<p>

"This is all your fucking fault," Rapunzel hisses into the man's ear, causing Flynn to wince at her proximity. "If you'd just _listened_ to me _before_ we'd robbed that McDonald's with your two-dollar razor and a bunch of weed, this wouldn't have _fucking happened_."

"Now, when you say it like that," Flynn protests weakly, but Rapunzel pinches him hard and he shuts up immediately.

The pair hold their breath as the flashlights come closer. The policemen's footsteps come far too close to their chosen hiding spot, a marshy area just on the city's outskirts with dense bushes and suspicious smelling substances. It wasn't ideal, but they'd been desperate.

Rapunzel knows that if the police find them, it would be shoot first, and ask questions later. The two had already accidentally taken down a detective yesterday (but he'd _survived_) when he'd recognised them as they'd hurried down the main street, and three hours later they'd been declared armed and dangerous, and Rapunzel knows that that means the police will aim to kill, because they're bastards like that.

"I wish our budget was enough for tracker dogs," one of the policemen mutters under his breath, far too close for their liking, and Flynn almost chokes out a squeak in surprise if Rapunzel hadn't clamped a hand over his mouth. "Fuck the boss and his corruption, honestly."

"Shut up," another man says darkly, "we're not all on the same side here."

They move off, and when the crunching and wet footsteps and lights disappear, Rapunzel lets out a deep sigh of relief, and then blinks slowly when she realises how close Flynn, breath mingling with hers.

"Lucky," Flynn whispers, holding her gaze. Rapunzel only manages a short nod. "Let's get going, then. Gotta get back to the main city. You mentioned you had a safe house? I'll get you near there."

"Right," Rapunzel says quietly, snapping herself out of her daze. _He has nice eyes,_ Rapunzel thinks idly. "What about you?"

"The Angels have their own," Flynn replies, and his familiar cocky smirk is back in place. "Can't tell you where it is, though, otherwise it wouldn't be very safe anymore."

Rapunzel snorts and begins slowly wiggling out of the mud. "Likewise," she retorts, and then adds, just to be bitter, "Damn fucking Angels."

* * *

><p>Anna feels her stomach contract again, and the contents of her dinner (a measly bowl of cold pasta) reappears again in its half-digested state in the toilet bowl.<p>

"Are you finished?" Hans asks in a low voice, soothing and calm. Her hair is plastered to her face and he gently brushes the strands away.

"Don't touch me," Anna rasps. She wipes her mouth and stumbles to her feet, fumbling with the tap and rinsing her mouth. Hans sighs behind her and steps back.

"You've been overworking yourself, Anna," Hans says. His eyes sharpen. "You're more stressed than usual."

"I'm fine," Anna says roughly, pushing past him into the bedroom.

They're in Hans' apartment, and its new and clean and spotless. Hans comes from old money, is all Anna has gathered from him, but she hadn't known that it was to this extent. It's not hard to find such a nice place like this in Stella Morta (after all, the rich and the shady mix together easily like wine and caviar), and while it's legions above Anna's own shitty little apartment with its damp walls and stuttering lights, she finds she still dislikes this place. It's too… _foreign_.

"What's wrong, though?" Hans pushes. Anna grits her teeth. Why won't he just _let it go_. "There's been nothing of major interest concerning us. The Red Crowns are on a manhunt, but their higher ups know its not us. Our payments have started to come in. There's only small business to attend to. What are you worrying over?"

"Who says I'm worried about anything?" Anna snaps. She rummages in his closet, hoping to find some clothes that she'd left over from previous visits. Hans just watches her with his arms crossed and Anna tries to fight the growing unease in her belly.

It's been one week since Elsa went missing. Anna is no closer to finding her, and there are no clues. No ransom, no note. Just an empty apartment waiting for her when she gets back from work. After the first three days, Anna begins sleeping over at Hans'.

"Anna," Hans murmurs. And then he's right behind her, suddenly, and Anna wishes she didn't jump. "Anna, how long have we been together? Do you think I don't know you?"

He closes his hand over hers and kisses her neck. Once upon a time, Anna would have relished in the warmth, but now she just leans back into his chest, eyes closed, and wonders if she could get away with stabbing him.

"You get sick when you're stressed for too long," Hans says, burrowing his nose into her shoulder. His grip on her hand tightens. "And you started getting sick when the Spirit and the Crown's new medic disappeared. Why? Are you worried about them? Jack Frost and _Elsa_ _Queen_?"

Anna's eyes open slowly. Hans is rubbing thumb circles into her palm.

It's the quiet before the storm. The silence right before the explosion.

"You say those names again," Anna says, voice barely audible, "and you go the same way Tarzan went."

A body hacked into pieces and tied together with a big red ribbon. The scrunched up note in his mouth.

_Anything for the Angels._

Hans draws away from her, and for a second Anna is ready, fingers poised to grab the gun she'd stashed under her clothes as she waits to hear a click.

An eternity passes.

Hans chuckles and Anna turns around, eyes cold. "Alright, alright," Hans says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I won't say anything, promise."

Anna smiles at him. "Thanks, sweetheart," she chimes. She doesn't miss the way his hands slide out of his coat or the faint bulge in his pocket. And she knows that he's watching her hands too, as she grabs a T-shirt and her fingernails clink against the gun underneath.

"I'll go make some coffee," Hans says, and Anna nods, still smiling. As soon as he leaves, it drops, and Anna lets out a shaky breath.

_Too close,_ she tells herself. She's trying to find some moisturiser, opening random drawers, when she notices something sticking out from underneath the wooden floor panels. It's so tiny that she might have missed it if she hadn't stepped on it, and while a layman might have ignored the prick on their foot, Anna, with all her experience and intuition, bends down to check what it is.

At first Anna thinks it's a nail not quite hammered down, but it's too soft for that. It's strange for a place this expensive to have poorly fixed floors, so Anna frowns and picks at it. It's the corner of a sheet of paper, and after careful wrestling, manages to free it from between the panels.

After checking that Hans is still in the kitchen, humming to himself, Anna turns the sheet of paper over in her hands.

It's a police report.

Anna scans it quickly, ears pricked for Hans' return. What she finds is a document detailing a small arrest of a low-tier Olympian gang member. It's nothing really important, but the gears are turning in Anna's brain already, and one million scenarios are flashing in her head.

She folds the paper up and stashes it in her coat pocket.

Hans gives her a cup of coffee when she slinks into the kitchen, and Anna takes it with a mumble of thanks.

It's tense, quiet, and as Anna sips at her drink, thinks that maybe she might have to kill him after all.

* * *

><p>"Nightlight," Jack muses, and as he talks the gun moves with his temple. "Now <em>that's <em>a name I haven't heard in a long_, long _time."

"I have a lot of connections," Pitch says.

"Was it Hero's 6?" Jack asks. At Pitch's resulting grin, Jack sighs. "I fucking hate the Hamada brothers."

Pitch stares at him for three long seconds. He clicks the safety off his gun.

"Your alias, Nightlight," Pitch says quietly, "who is he?"

Jack stares at Death in the face and says, "Me."

Snarling, Pitch slams the butt of the gun into his nose. There's a loud crack, and Jack is gasping air mixed with blood as he writhes on the ground. "Don't play games with me, Jack Frost. Don't forget that I can still kill your sister."

"I'm not lying, though," Jack laughs painfully, and he doesn't know why he's laughing, just that _this_ is such a bizarre situation to be in. _Nightlight_. Nightlight. "I am Nightlight. But Nightlight is dead," he tells Pitch gleefully, and Pitch is struck silent by the way Jack's entire body is heaving with giggles.

"What's wrong with you," Pitch says lowly. His lip curls. "Has the darkness finally turned you mad?"

Jack continues to laugh on the floor. Pitch steps a little closer and nudges him with his foot. At the moment of contact, Jack shoots up from his position, quick as lightning, and a second later Pitch's gun is in Jack's hands, and he points it right between Pitch's eyes.

"I could pull the trigger right now," Jack whispers. In this light, he looks deranged. A skeleton with wild silver hair and unsteady eyes and all his teeth revealed with an ugly leer. The capture has taken its toll on him. Emily Jane's ghost hovers by his side. "I could pull it right now and I'd still sleep like a baby."

"I'm quite aware," Pitch says dryly, too calm for someone with a bullet only a few centimetres from entering his skull. "You've done it before."

"Nightlight is me," Jack repeats for the third time. "And Mim is gone. Don't ask me where Mim is. I don't know where Mim is. Do you understand?"

Pitch regards him for a moment. Jack's fingers give the trigger the tiniest of squeezes.

"Yes," says Pitch, because that's all he can say.

"Good," Jack beams. He drops the gun and begins to twirl it in his left hand. "So, are we done here?"

Pitch gives him a look that could freeze Hell over. "I suppose."

"Great! Then call your men off Clara, give me the medic, and we'll be on our way!"

"You're crazy," Pitch says calmly.

Jack switches to twirling the gun in his right hand. And then he stops, look at the weapon, and then looks at Pitch. His eyes flash something feral.

–_so if you wanna save yourself, kid, just do as I do–_Who are you? Who are you, little boy?–and the other day I caught a huuuuge beetle and it flew straight at me and–_What the fuck you can't just come in here drippin' blood like that people will talk_–they already talk–The fuck's your name?–_Nightlight–I'm Nightlight–_I reckon you'll be fine, you'll fit in around these parts–_I'm not doing it for myself, I have a little sister_–everyone does it for themselves, kid, ain't nothin' wrong with that–_My name is Nightlight, and I'm here to–_

Jack raises the gun, but he doesn't point it at Pitch. Instead, he holds Pitch's eyes, and then presses the tip into his left arm, right in the middle, between his elbow and his wrist, where there's still swelling and a purple bruise from where the tracker had been implanted in him.

"You have _nothing_ over me," Jack hisses, and Pitch feels a trickle of fear crawl down his spine. "You don't _own_ me. I don't _owe_ you anything, not for Emily Jane, and not for Mim."

"You're crazy," Pitch says again, faintly.

Jack's lips twist, his expression is indecipherable. "So I've been told," he replies easily. He pulls the trigger.

* * *

><p>Elsa is slipping in and out of consciousness. There are little dancing figures at the edges of her vision. They've been dancing for a few minutes now.<p>

Jack has been gone a long time. "What if they killed you?" Elsa says aloud to herself. It makes her feel less alone. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Swallowing hurts. Her throat is parched, and when she'd urinated in the corner a little while earlier, the smell had been strong. _Dehydrated_, Elsa thought to herself. Another problem to add to her growing list.

She's been thinking a lot. That's all she can do. She's too weak now and standing makes her dizzy. She wonders how long she's been missing. She wonders if Anna is alright. In her darker moments, Elsa thinks that this is for the best, really. Anna doesn't need her. Anna is fine by herself. Elsa has just been holding her back this whole time. But the ache in her chest soon drives all the thoughts away, and she thinks that it doesn't matter if Anna doesn't need her, _she_ needs Anna.

She just wants her baby sister.

"Don't cry," Elsa says fiercely to herself. "Crying will cause you to lose moisture that your body needs. Do. Not. Cry."

So Elsa doesn't cry, and she just sits there and she thinks. Elsa supposes a smarter person would look around, try and find something, anything, to stage an escape. But Elsa is tired and starving and _tired_. She can't do this anymore.

This city was a mistake. She should've taken Anna and left as soon as her parents died.

Elsa's made a lot of mistakes, and they all haunt her to this day.

Vaguely, she thinks she hears something screaming her name.

_Another auditory hallucination_, Elsa thinks numbly. She's been having a lot of those, but they've been louder than usual these past few minutes.

"Elsa!"

Elsa makes a small sound. "Shut up," she says to herself, driving a knuckle into her temple.

"Elsa! Elsa!"

It sounds a lot like Jack's voice. Elsa relaxes a little. She likes Jack's voice.

"Elsa! Goddammit, Elsa! Where the fuck are you?"

_Wait a second._

"Elsa!"

"Jack," Elsa whispers. She staggers to her feet, trips to where she thinks the door is. "Jack! Jack, I'm here!"

Her voice cracks. She begins pounding weakly at the walls. "Jack!"

"Elsa! Keep talking to me! Keep talking, I'm gonna get you!"

"Jack," Elsa cries. Her voice is still too soft, her vocal cords rusty from lack of use. "Over here, Jack!"

His voice gets nearer and nearer. "Hang on, Elsa, I'm coming for you!"

And finally, _finally_, the doors shriek open, and Elsa squints to adjust to the light for the first time in too long. The first thing she sees is Jack's face, gaunt and hallowed and thin, but it sends a wave of relief through her so huge she all but stumbles into his arms.

"Jack," she gasps. He stinks, and she's sure she doesn't smell much better, but she holds him as tight as she can.

_Thank you for not leaving me thank you for not leaving me thank you for not leaving me–_

And she doesn't realise she saying these words out loud until Jack wraps his arms around her and embraces her back and says, "Don't worry, don't worry, I wouldn't leave you."

Elsa steps back from him, fighting back her horrible, horrible urge to cry (now's not the time), and notices the man Jack has brought along. Or more like forced along. Even while hugging her, Jack keeps his gun–where did he get his gun from?–trained on a man who'd evidently lead him here.

"Don't worry, just a hostage," Jack grins at her. "Actually, not really a hostage. Just a human GPS, ain't that right, Mr. Fearling?"

The Fearling grits his teeth, but he's wary of the weapon in Jack's hands.

"Now if you'd be so kind as to lead us out of this fucking maze and where the exit from the docks is, you'd have my eternal thanks," Jack sings. "Hurry along now. I shot myself, and I can certainly shoot you."

"You what," Elsa bites out as they begin to follow the unwilling Fearling. It's then she smells the blood, and then she sees the wound.

"I didn't have time to wrap it up," Jack says conversationally.

Elsa takes his arm, swallowing down her nausea at the large hole right in the middle of his left arm, leaking blood and flesh. Her brain short circuits, but only for a second. "You," she barks out to the Fearling, "give me your shirt."

The Fearling stops and looks at her incredulously.

"Do as she says," Jack says. His face is beginning to lose colour, but his command is sharp and strong.

Elsa wraps the shirt around his wound and holds pressure over it. "It's not too tight?" she asks. Jack shakes his head.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive at the exit. Jack thanks the Fearling, and then promptly shoots him in the leg. Elsa turns away just in time, but the sound of the Fearling's screams will follow her for days to come.

"Did you have to shoot him?" Elsa asks, feeling the bile rise up in her throat.

"I didn't hit a major vessel," Jack defends himself, "and it was so he couldn't run back to Pitch."

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Elsa says. Her hands are soaked through and she's almost supporting Jack's full weight. His breathing is ragged, pupils dilated in the moonlight.

"Well, my arm," Jack chuckles painfully, "I just–kind of–wanted to shock Pitch. And there was–a tracker in my arm–"

"Alright, alright, explain later," Elsa says hurriedly. The Fearling had left them on a main road, and she manages to hail a taxi. "Just–stop talking. But don't fall asleep! We're going to the hospital."

"I hate hospitals," Jack grumbles. The taxi slows down and he crawls in.

"Bit of a late night for you kids," the taxi driver says cheerfully as Elsa climbs in after him. "Having a bit of fun out here, four o'clock in the morning?"

"You have no idea," Jack says drowsily. The driver looks at the state of their appearances and presses his lips together.

"I'll pay you double," Elsa says. "Just take me the hospital."

Jack half smiles at her. "You're on your way to becoming one of us, you little scammer," he says, low enough so that the driver doesn't hear.

They don't have any money.

* * *

><p>Pitch Black stares up at the moon. He's surrounded by three of his men, all of them shot by Jack after he'd burst out from the container. They were still alive, but useless.<p>

"I can't believe he shot himself just for the tracker," Pitch laughs to himself. He throws his head up to the sky and just _laughs_. "Jack Frost, you crazy little fucker."

He digs into his pocket and draws out a phone. There's no password. He dials the first number on his contacts list and lets it ring.

"Kill Clara Frost," Pitch says, and then hangs up.

* * *

><p>author's note:<p>

idk man they're all fucking weird.

so is this getting really confusing? I know there are a lot of characters that I introduce that u probs won't know and stuff bc they're rly obscure. But a lot of characters are from other disney movies as you probs know, and the others like Emily Jane and Nightlight is from the original guardians of childhood books. I'm sorry it's hard to keep up with, but they're just used for plot devices. Frozen and rotg have too few characters to work with lmao.

Thank u for reading!

updated: 14 march 2016


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